Bettie Page On Easter

One of my dearest friends in the world was in town this past weekend with her husband, and I got to spend a bunch of time with them. The weather was heart-achingly spectacular. The skyline of New York – its glitter, its texture … and … I don’t know … I always see it as hopeful. It is no longer complete. But it shimmers with its own beauty, it still exists.

I met up with them yesterday afternoon after I went to church, and then spent the morning writing.

The sun was beautiful. There was a coolness to the air, a spring coolness. The entire city looked like it was putting on its best face … showing its most charming side. Its friendliness, the ranks of brownhouses, black shiny shutters, massive windows … the trees now in bloom. Bursting pink flowers, fluttering petals … I look around and feel like I’ve stepped into a movie. But this is reality. This is what New York can be like sometimes.

We walked through Washington Square Park. No street performers?? I was shocked. But the park was filled with people having a leisurely day. Families picnicking, NYU students reading on benches … and the beautiful arch, spectacular – now renovated. For years it was behind a fence of barbed wire … you couldn’t walk under it, or get close to it. But now it’s out!!

Walking downtown. Three-way conversation. Just glorying in being together. Heading for Soho. Chanel, sadly, was closed. We did stare through the windows, though. Longingly. Like Little Orphan Anne, or something.

Great conversations. Just on and on and on … I haven’t seen her in a year or so … it was so good to see her!! And her husband is just awesome.

We ended up going to Puck Fair for a late lunch, and a pint or two. Our good friend Wade used to work there … if I ever wanted to see Wade, I just had to head to Puck Fair to get a fix … Sadly, he has moved on. And now he has disappeared into the mist. Wade!!! Where are you??? One of my best friends in grad school. Our paths will cross again. They always do.

Once we emerged from Puck Fair – it was time to head up to Chelsea to see the film The Notorious Bettie Page – which I had been SO excited about. For many reasons. First of all, I love Bettie. But I’ve also wondered when Gretchen Mol would emerge again as a playah. The New York Times review of the film nails the Mol-thing perfectly:

Until now, Ms. Mol has been best known for her premature designation several years ago as Hollywood’s newest It Girl. The label seemed to plague her, and she all but faded from view despite promising turns in little-seen films.

Exactly. “Premature designation”. Vanity Fair put her on their cover in a rather titillating pose … before anybody knew her name. This was 10 years ago. It was too much too soon. There was backlash in the industry because: it felt too much like an anointment from within. People wrote in to say they hated the photograph on the cover. “Who is this Gretchen Mol and why should we care about her?” In a way, I am very glad that she did NOT go on to become an “It Girl”, at least not in that manufactured way, because the reality is is that she is a lovely actress, absolutely open … and it seems that her “destiny” is to just be one of those hard-working actresses, not a big star, which will give her a bit more anonymity, and therefore a bit more freedom.

From the Times review:

Ms. Mol takes to this tricky role with the carefree expressivity you tend to see only in young children who have learned the joys of nudity, usually when their parents are throwing a dinner party. When she strips, Bettie soars.

Photographers who worked with Page said that she didn’t seem naked even when she was. There was something so natural about it for her. Bunny Yeager (an amazing woman in her own right) worked with Bettie quite a bit (if you’ve seen the picture of Bettie in the leopard-skin bikini hanging out with the leopards, that’s Bunny Yeager) and she said that she felt that Bettie was a “born nudist”.

Bettie Page said once: “I was never one who was squeamish about nudity. I don’t believe in being promiscuous about it, but several times I thought of going to a nudist colony.”

In the film, Bettie Page comes across as a simple sweet girl, who didn’t have a prurient bone in her body. She calls her bondage gear “costumes”. She doesn’t get what the big deal is. If it makes people happy to see those photos … then why should she be ashamed of them?

Bettie Page had some horrible times ahead of her, but the film stops before that. Again, the Times nails it:

Ms. Harron moves fluidly through Bettie’s early years, which included brutal abuse that might have had something to do with why she entered a profession that allowed her to create and control a sexualized image of herself. Even so, while Ms. Harron and Ms. Turner don’t shy away from these dark episodes — and, notably, end Bettie’s story before age and the really bad times intrude — they are too smart to draw a direct line between the traumas and the person who survived them. A self-made woman, Bettie Page created an enduringly resonant persona out of an arsenal of smiles and sneers, and her impressively pliant figure. Depending on the costume, the photographer (two of the finest were women, Paula Klaw and Bunny Yeager) and her own ingenuity, she was a dark angel, a harem girl, a naturist or a very naughty miss, but she was also always her own woman.

If the inner Bettie remains somewhat out of focus here, even to the beatific finale, it’s largely because what made her a sensation — both in the 1950’s and the 1980’s revival that made her into a modern cult figure — wasn’t her acting aspirations or the religious convictions that might have pushed her to leave modeling, but that she was a genius of the body.

Here’s a great piece about Bettie Page now.

I loved that the film decided to keep some of her mystery intact.

Welcome back, Gretchen Mol.