An American original. Born on this day. A living legend. A national treasure. I have too many favorite Dolly Parton songs to list, and I love her stuff with Porter Wagoner. Speaking of which, have you seen the episode of Drunk History where an adorable wasted man describes Dolly’s break with Porter Wagoner? If you haven’t …
He loves her so much! The slam on the table at the end.
More after the jump.
It’s Patricia Highsmith’s birthday today.
He wouldn’t have killed someone just to save Derwatt Ltd. or even Bernard, Tom supposed. Tom had killed Murchison because Murchison had realized, in the cellar, that he had impersonated Derwatt. Tom had killed Murchison to save himself. And yet, Tom tried to ask himself, had he intended to kill Murchison anyway when they went down to the cellar together? Had he not intended to kill him? Tom simply could not answer that. And did it matter much?
– from Ripley Under Ground
, by Patricia Highsmith
“Tom simply could not answer that.” In this one chilling sentence is the key to Patricia Highsmith’s style. There’s nothing else there except what it expresses. It’s as chilly as Johnny Cash’s unforgettable line: “I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.” Unlike Cash’s narrator, Tom Ripley does not kill to see someone die. He kills to survive and keep his true nature concealed. Anyone who is in his way or onto him must go. Tom is almost confused by who he is and why he does what he does. But he’s not worried about it. Above all else, he is logical. The way a lion is logical when it camouflages itself before pouncing on the gazelle.
As my friend Mitchell observed:
To this day, people say, “Oh so-and-so’s the new Cary Grant.” Cary Grant was acting in 1930. We’re talking 70 years ago. Almost 80 years ago, and we’re still referring to people as the “new Cary Grant”. Well, guess what, there’s no such thing. If 80 years later, you’re still trying to find someone to be the next so-and-so, there is nobody. It’s only him.
He created the mould for what it means to be a modern male Movie Star. But the mould was so totally in his own shape that nobody else could ever fit into it. They try. And marketing departments try to convince us: “Look. It’s the new Cary Grant.” But it’s the Uncanny Valley. Nobody buys it.
There’s talent, which he had. There’s versatility (ibid.). There’s career and money smarts (ibid. idem.) There’s beauty (ad nauseum, exeunt). He had it all. But what he really had is difficult to talk about or even define: Magic.
All movie stars are not created equal.
Here are some of the things I have written about him over the years:
First up:
1. It was an honor to write the booklet essay for Criterion’s release of Bringing Up Baby. I am particularly fond of the title of the essay: Bringing Up Baby: Bones, Balls, and Butterflies.
2. an enormous essay on one of his best performances in Hitchcock’s Notorious:
The Fat-Headed Guy Full of Pain: Cary Grant in Notorious
3. Mitchell and I discuss Cary Grant. We get INTO IT.
On Cary Grant
4. For Bright Wall/Dark Room:
You Are What You Do: His Girl Friday
5. On Sylvia Scarlett, the extremely strange film that represented Cary Grant’s real “break” although he had been in films for a while:
The Wonderful Weird WTF-ness of Sylvia Scarlett
6. Because of course:
Anatomy of Two Pratfalls: Cary Grant and Elvis Presley
7. For House Next Door:
It all started with a 5 for the Day in 2009.
The rest of the stuff I’ve written on Cary Grant can be found here.
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
How could you describe Andy Kaufman (who was born on this day) to a generation who did not grow up seeing him on late-night talk shows, cameos on Saturday Night Live, his own TV specials?
How on earth could you pass on an idea of what it was that he did?
I mean, nobody understood it THEN either.
He was a comedian. Sure. Yeah. But that doesn’t quite cover it, now does it.
John Carpenter, director:
In dealing with Elvis, I’m bringing a lot of my own feelings to it and how I feel about him, and how I interpret the script, how I interpret his life. And in that sense, from my point, it’s a personal film. I really love Elvis a lot. I’ve always been a fan of his. I love his music. I have a strong feeling for him, it means something to me, I care a lot about the character, I care about his story. And in some senses I feel lucky to be able to direct a film about Elvis, this kind of a film which I don’t feel is exploiting him but I feel is trying to tell his story, trying to tell a story about a man who is bigger than life which is very interesting because he really was a human being, but somewhere in his life I think he transcended that and became mythical.
I am thankful this movie exists. Carpenter’s 1979 film was the first attempt to “deal with” Elvis after his death in 1977. So many horrible details came out following Elvis’ death (as well as right before his death, with the tell-all book by the Betraying Bodyguards) and Carpenter already felt that an Act of Redress was necessary. (Same with Dave Marsh, whose spectacular 1981 book Elvis! served a similar function.)
John Carpenter’s Elvis deals compassionately with Elvis’ rise to the top: it is an act of almost aggressive positivity. This might drive some people crazy but the surrounding context is important.
Kurt Russell, as a child actor, kicked the actual Elvis’ shins in It Happened at the World’s Fair …
Normally I have a hard time watching actors being Elvis (and so Austin Butler has my deepest gratitude), and I can’t stand Elvis impersonators. But Russell captures a flame of the original. Shelley Winters plays Elvis’ beloved Mama, Gladys, a perfect choice.
One of the things I like about the film – making it distinct from much of the commentary on Elvis – is that it doesn’t pathologize Elvis’ relationship with his mother. Yes, they were close. Yes, he was a total and unashamed Mama’s Boy. But … Can’t he have just loved her more than anyone else in the world? Can’t he have just seen her as a focal point of sanity and unconditional love in the middle of a whirlwind? Can’t they have just been so close because poverty and hardship can do that to families, creating a We’re in this together kind of thing?
Things are left out of the film. Mainly: drugs. Elvis was introduced to amphetamines in the Army, in 1958!, so he could stay up all night on his patrols. The addiction worked by stealth (the pills were seen as harmless, and were prescribed by a doctor), and everyone was on speed then. This wasn’t about “getting high” for fun, another important distinction since he never drank, didn’t “party” and hated being around drunkenness. Fun for Elvis involved football, roller coasters, movies and hamburgers. Carpenter made a choice to leave the drugs out. So watching the film can be a weird experience. The film ends not with Elvis’ death, but with Elvis taking the stage, resplendent in a white jumpsuit, for his nerve-wracking live comeback at the International Hotel in 1969. The film ends in triumph.
But again, in the face of all of the revelations about Elvis, and the tell-all books by people who barely knew him, Carpenter – whose comment above is eloquent -shows the Presley mythology (the dead twin, the Mama’s Boy thing, Elvis’ vulnerability – crying from Nashville to Tennessee after the disastrous Grand Ole Opry audition, etc.) in a positive and yet honest way. The film is mainly focused on the unnatural isolation of fame.
Stylistically, Carpenter makes some bold choices. Elvis is often seen through doorways, or at the end of hallways. There, but not really there. He’s surrounded by space, while also being hemmed in. There’s a sense of moody dread in some of the framings – (more typical of, hmmmm, a horror movie, perhaps?) – even though the script pushes towards golden-hued nostalgia and frank myth-making. To the well-known myth, Carpenter adds strangeness. Elvis casts shadows on the wall, his head looming in black silhouette behind him. This is a visual motif throughout, and Carpenter pushes it into a truly poetic realm.
The shadow he casts is much larger than his actual self. The shadow he casts is practically separated from the actual man casting the shadow. Fame is what he wanted, but fame is DARK.
There’s a great scene where Elvis stands in his backyard, surrounded by his entourage. He takes out a cigarette and – as one – they all whip out their lighters. Elvis does not demand that kind of devotion, and Russell plays the moment as one of deep and almost moral and ethical unease, accepting a light from one of them, but showing that in the heart of the character of Elvis, he knows that this is not normal, this is not right, this is not good for him.
It’s a subtle moment and it has the ring of truth.
Thank you, John Carpenter! I know he’s known for other things now, but this is the one I treasure. And remember whose site you are on.
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
Look at this stunning shot from Desire (1936), directed by the swooningly romantic Frank Borzage.
The specificity of where the light falls, there’s full-on head-on light, and then there are little pools of light, surrounded by deep shadows … Marlene Dietrich’s face is entirely in shadow, but light falls on her stunning creamy outfit (designed by the great Travis Banton). The whole effect for this one shot, which lasts about five seconds, takes real artistry to pull off. (Charles Lang, a legend, was the cinematographer).
“How else can a black writer write than out of his black experience? Yet what we tend to overlook is that our common humanity makes it possible to write a love poem, for instance, without a word of race, or to write a nationalistic poem that will be valid for all humanity.” — Dudley Randall
It’s his birthday today.
Dudley Randall’s sense of mission was a guiding star. He wanted to create opportunities for Black writers, he wanted to create a platform for them. And he did. What Randall created still exists today. Extraordinary.
Randall was the son of a preacher and a teacher. These professions stood as powerful examples to him, infusing everything he did – his sense of mission, again. He started writing poetry very young, and was published very young (13 years old and a published author!). He graduated from high school early. He got his degree at Wayne State, and then went on to get a Master’s in library science. (As the daughter of a librarian, let’s hear it for librarians.) He served in the South Pacific in WWII. He learned many languages and traveled widely. Since he was fluent in Russian, he translated many Russian works into English, and often it was the first time these poems/books appeared in English translation. Randall held down a job as a librarian all this time. He wrote poetry about the Detroit world he saw around him, the auto workers, the bag ladies, churchgoers, the downtrodden, the flashy.
Randall’s most long-lasting legacy came out of his own poetry, at first, but expanded into something much bigger. In 1963, he founded Broadside Press. He ran the press out of his own home, with limited to no funds, and he ran it for 20 years before selling it. Broadside continues in existence today. (You can read the story of Broadside Press – and look at the archives – here.) Randall’s Broadside Press – similar to Harriet Monroe’s Poetry magazine – was the first to publish many poets who couldn’t get published elsewhere because their work didn’t “fit” with the mainstream. Many of the poets first published by Broadside would go on to become legends. The late Nikki Giovanni called Broadside a “midwife” to the Black poetry movement.
Over the course of Randall’s tenure, Broadside published over 60 books: poetry volumes, criticism, memoirs, you name it. Authors who got their start at Broadside did not forget what Randall had done. When Gwendolyn Brooks wrote her autobiography, she chose Broadside as her publisher (even though she would have gotten much more money from bigger publishing houses).
Randall was Detroit’s first poet laureate. There are scholarships issued under his name, buildings are named for him.
Here are two of Randall’s poems. The first is a heart-breaker about the assassination of President Kennedy. The second is about the bombing of the church in Birmingham, Alabama. Randall felt strongly about the importance of Black experience but he also felt strongly about the universality of art, and how those things were not mutually exclusive.
It was a wet and cloudy day
When the Prince took his last ride
The Prince rode with the governor
And his Princess rode beside.
“And would you like to ride inside
For shelter from the rain?”
“No, I’ll ride outside
Where I can wave and speak to my friends again.”
The Prince rides with the governor
His Princess rides beside
Dressed all in pink
As delicate as roses of a bride
Pink as a rose the princess rides
But bullets from a gun
Turn that pink to as deep a red
As red red blood can run
For she stoops to where the Prince lies still
And cradles his shattered head
And there that pink so delicate
Is stained a deep deep red
The Prince rides with the governor
The Princess rides beside
And her dress of pink so delicate
A deep deep red is dyed.
(On the bombing of a church in Birmingham, Alabama, 1963)
“Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?”
“No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren’t good for a little child.”
“But, mother, I won’t be alone.
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free.”
“No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children’s choir.”
She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.
The mother smiled to know her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.
For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.
She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
“O, here’s the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?”
“My strongest motivations have been to get good black poets published, to produce beautiful books, help create and define the soul of black folk, and to know the joy of discovering new poets.” – Dudley Randall
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
At this point, my “relationship” with Dave Grohl (born on this day), is decades-long. I was there when Nirvana hit. I was swept away by Nirvana – and all their ilk – and cried when Kurt Cobain died. My sadness about the demise of Nirvana felt personal. It was like I had to say goodbye not just to Cobain but to Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl too. It was like, “Oh well, that’s all over now.” I don’t know why I didn’t consider that of course these were young men, the survivors of Nirvana, and they’d go on to make more music. But Nirvana … It was so hard to let them go. I’ll never get over it.
I have a visceral memory of my sister telling me Dave Grohl had come out with a “solo” album. Of course it wasn’t a solo album, it was the debut of his new band Foo Fighters, but … we didn’t have enough information to know that yet. The internet wasn’t pouring us into the rumor mill 24/7. We just heard whisperings, inklings. I remember saying, “WHAT?” It was like a miracle. Light from the caves. Hyperbole required. Maybe you never loved something that hard, maybe you never felt like something died – something big – when a beloved figure dies … OR maybe it wasn’t Kurt Cobain for you, maybe it was something else. And that’s fine. But for me, for so many others, Nirvana MEANT something. Just like River Phoenix MEANT something. Phoenix and Cobain died just months apart: a watershed moment for Gen-X kids and young adults (particularly for those of us who were in the arts). Maybe these losses weren’t to the level of “The Day the Music Died” … but it was OUR Day the Music Died. So Dave Grohl, from seemingly out of nowhere, put out this rough-sounding album – and his band was called … wait, WHAT was his band called again? What the hell does Foo Fighters mean? I bought the album on cassette tape the week it was released.
What a thrill it was to listen to that first album for the first time. When I hear any of those songs again, I still remember the first time. If you’re not Gen-X – OR if you were one of those people who looked around at everyone crying when Kurt Cobain died and thought, “These people have lost their minds” (if you recall, much of the commentary was like this) … all I can say is: Maybe have some curiosity about what other people are going through, particularly younger people, and maybe consider that those “kids” know exactly what it is they are crying about?
It wasn’t just exciting that Dave Grohl emerged from Nirvana and still wanted to make music. What was even more thrilling was … HE was now the front-man. AND he was playing guitar and singing. AND he wrote the songs. Nirvana was, of course, a trio – and each of them were famous – but … you know. Cobain was the magnet, the light, the charismatic troubled center. Grohl said once in an interview that Nirvana was really “heavy” – the vibe was heavy, the fame was REALLY heavy – and the first Foo Fighters album was a way for him to shake off the heaviness. You can FEEL it in those songs. The release and catharsis. That long-haried boy playing drums in Nirvana had all THIS in him. Who knew??
What is even more amazing is that the Foo Fighters are still here. And they are the opposite of a nostalgia act, a way for people to channel their grief about Cobain or some such. I have said this before: the Foo Fighters have a sound that is often as aggressive as Nirvana’s, but positivity fuels it, not anguish and rage. I am not dissing anguish and rage. I need artists to express those songs, and Cobain was a genius at it. But positive aggression is rare! When I say “positivity” I don’t mean it the way it’s normally meant today – so maybe I need to find a different word. “Positivity” has been co-opted by every single emotional fascist on TikTok who want to regulate literally every individual’s response to every single individual moment. Nothing but “positivity” is allowed! No thank you. It’s the 1950s smiling-white-family-white-picket-fence conventionality and consensus-building-requirement in another form, but equally as bossy and conformist. When I say positivity I mean: an emotion and a drive on the side of life, of joy, of openness, of fluid and free emotions, of possibility. To me, that’s what the Foo Fighters sound like. And that’s all Dave Grohl.
I want to link to a piece my brother wrote about The Colour and the Shape, their second album, the one that launched them into the stratosphere (the first album being more like a tentative introduction). Bren included it on his 50 Best Albums list, and he says much of what I feel and much more articulately. Because that album … I honestly listened to it too much. I had to take a step back. I know the track listing by heart, because you actually listened to ALBUMS back then. Anyway, here’s my brother’s wonderful piece:
50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley, #18. Foo Fighters, The Colour And The Shape
And now for some clips. They’re a little bit off the beaten path but I love them. Grohl was part of one of the heaviest bands ever – and nothing can take away my adoration of Nirvana – but it’s like he wriggled out of the chains of the kind of fame Nirvana achieved – wriggled out of the codependent anxiety between Nirvana and its fans – to find a new kind of freedom. He plays with Queens of the Stone Age (talk about HEAVY). He sometimes plays with Tenacious D. He appeared in a Muppet Movie. He’s all over the place. He’s free. And I’m happy for him. So two of these clips are Dave Grohl supporting other artists, and fan-boy-ing OUT, which I love.
First up, though, a clip Grohl isn’t even in. You might have seen this. 1,000 drummers gathered in a field in Italy, to play “Fly” – as a way to lure Foo Fighters to come play in their area (which they never had before). It’s awe-inspiring and – again – even without the Foo Fighters’ presence – maybe even BECAUSE of the absence – the joy in the music is almost palpable. Not the joy of the musicians, although that’s present too, but the joy in the SOUND.
Next up: Dave Grohl playing sideman to Rick Springfield, and he’s so into it he makes me laugh out loud. He is so excited to play “Jessie’s Girl” and is just so INTO supporting Rick Springfield, and it makes me feel like sometimes the world works out, sometimes it’s a good place, of tribute, honor, memory, collaboration, and personal triumph.
I have deep affection for this clip, Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters performing “The One” at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. Everyone looks cold. They’re outside. February 2022 was so close to 9/11, I still remember how deeply this joyful sound – and the joyful crowd – touched me to my core. For months I had been living in chaos, we all were, but New Yorkers more so. I can’t put into words what I felt watching Dave Grohl, his breath showing in the icy air, singing this joyful loud song:
And here’s Dave Grohl and Paul McCartney singing “I Saw Her Standing There”.
1. This is my favorite Beatles song. I made my choice at age 8 and I’m sticking to it.
2. WATCH DAVE GROHL. In the piece I linked to above, my piece, I compared him to Paul McCartney! So first, there’s the opening: Dave Grohl crouched beside McCartney, grinning and cackling with excitement like a little kid.
3. Once the song starts, keep watching Grohl. He’s so into it! He’s US, in other words, and yet he’s also famous and he’s also onstage. I remember a funny comment made by one of my Red-Sox-fan family members in the world-changing year of 2004 about first baseman Kevin Millar: “He is the closest thing we’ll get to having a Red Sox fan ON the team.” It made me laugh out loud because it was so true. And Dave Grohl is a superstar, but in this moment, he’s a fan. And he can’t contain himself. His vibe is almost like he’s doing air-guitar by himself alone in his bedroom. That’s how free he is onstage.
4. Listen to that audience sing along. It’s a Coliseum ROAR.
5. At around the 1:10 mark, Grohl comes back into the microphone. He does some harmony lines, but mainly he’s just standing there, playing, and staring right at McCartney, with a white-hot focus of “OH MY GOD YOU ARE PAUL MCCARTNEY.”
6. And then watch Grohl at around 1:24 on. I mean, that’s how we all feel, right? That’s what the song makes people feel like. From the moment the song was released to now, to beyond, that’s how the song makes you feel, that’s what you need to do when you hear it.
7. Paul McCartney steps back to give the stage to Grohl for the guitar solo. Look at the smiles on everyone’s faces. And please watch Grohl at around 1:57-1:60.
I don’t need art to be joyful. I like all kinds of art. Mournful art, cynical art, satirical art. But the ability to express joy like this – all of the guys onstage actually are in that zone, watch their energy, their smiles, their support of one another, their freedom – is precious.
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
Bonnie and Clyde
It’s her birthday today.
I haven’t written all that much about Faye Dunaway – at least in a concentrated way – although I’ve seen all of her big and rightfully iconic performances many times. I think she’s a fascinating actress, in her courage and precision, in her absolute don’t-give-a-shit-about-being-likable bravery, very very rare in today’s younger generation of actors. Now we all want to SYMPATHIZE with Diana Christensen in Network, we want to know her BACKSTORY, we want to FEEL for her, poor woman making it in a sexist world. Okay, okay, that’s part of it. But we see Diana at the END of all that. She’s sacrificed her humanity, her capacity to feel for other people (if she ever had that capability to begin with. Maybe the point is: In order to make it like Diana has made it, you have to be that ruthless. No other options. People like Diana – truncated emotionally, limited, single-minded – are the ones who “make it”). Faye Dunaway didn’t care about sentimental-shmoopy backstory. Diana Christensen is a symptom of a large societal problem, but she is also its AVATAR.
Network
And Dunaway did not shy away from that. She loved Diana, she loved her strength and creativity. But she understood the woman’s ugliness too. Having an orgasm as she imagines the good TV ratings in her future – having an orgasm BECAUSE of good ratings (a moment “stolen” in an homage in Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis – is one of the most bizarre and disturbing sex scenes in American cinema, and to have a gorgeous movie star play such a scene was evidence of how everything changed in 1970s film. It was Dunaway’s era. The 60s discovered her, the 70s let her LOOSE. Stanwyck could have played such a scene, would have played such a scene if she came up in another era. She and Dunaway have similar qualities. With all Dunaway’s beauty, she was drawn to ugliness.
Chinatown
I do want to take a moment to shout out a lesser-known film of hers, Puzzle of a Downfall Child, directed by Jerry Schatzberg and written by Carole Eastman (who also co-wrote Five Easy Pieces with Bob Rafelson – they were nominated for an Academy Award). There are some similarities between Five Easy Pieces and Puzzle of a Downfall Child, but Puzzle doesn’t have the cache of Five Easy Pieces because …. why. Dunaway is more remote than Jack Nicholson? No. That doesn’t hold water. Nicholson’s character in Five Easy Pieces is more “relatable” than Dunaway’s in Puzzle? “Relatable” to whom? I relate to BOTH. There are many many many women who can relate to Puzzle of a Downfall Child, so why should it be considered LESS relatable, just because it’s about a woman? At this point in our cultural history, we can not allow the male point-of-view to be considered the DEFAULT. Combat that attitude whenever you see it.
Puzzle of a Downfall Child
When I interviewed Dan Callahan about his book The Art of American Screen Acting: Volume 2, we discussed his chapter on Faye Dunaway (among other things), and he specifically referenced Puzzle of a Downfall Child, which capitalized on Dunaway’s very unique strengths: her otherworldly beauty (the character is a high-fashion model) and her strange dissociated quality.
The only other thing I’ve written about her is very close to my heart: I devoted one of my Film Comment columns to Emir Kusturica’s Arizona Dream , a nearly-lost film – and carelessly chopped up for its US DVD release – a film that has haunted my dreams for 20+ years, ever since I saw it during its 5-day run at the Chicago Art Institute. The film stars Johnny Depp, Jerry Lewis, Lili Taylor and Faye Dunaway, with Vincent Gallo in a smaller but crucial role. Faye Dunaway got to utilize parts of herself in this film – her whimsy, her humor (Dunaway is not known for her humor!) – and also got to use the things she’s known for – glamour, on-the-edge emotional frenzies, repression, madness, sexuality.
Arizona Dream
It’s one of Dunaway’s best performances, and it’s a disgrace how this gorgeous film was treated – mis-read by critics – butchered by the studio – and still, to this day, nearly un-see-able in its original form (you have to keep an eye out for it on YouTube, sometimes the original version shows up there).
Arizona Dream
Faye Dunaway plays a lunatic matriarch obsessed with building a flying machine. She has a passionate love affair with the much-younger Johnny Depp. One of the thrills of my time in grad school was getting to ask Dunaway about this film. This film that almost nobody else has even seen. She got so excited when I asked the question. She literally bounced in her chair, and moved forward to the edge of her seat. (I wrote about our interaction in my piece.) She LOVED doing the film and was very upset about its failure.
Arizona Dream
It’s a dream of a movie, and Dunaway is a dream IN it.
Bonnie and Clyde
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
A couple of great ones from Desire, starring Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper, with John Halliday as third lead, and Akim Tamiroff in one scene as a suspicious police inspector. A heist movie, and I love heist movies! Dietrich plays a jewel thief, who scores HUGE, stealing a string of pearls from right under the nose of the jeweler, and then flees across France and Spain, trying to escape detection. Along the way, she meets a bumbling charming earnest American (Cooper), having the first solo vacation of his whole American life. This is Dietrich’s first film post her collaboration with Josef von Sternberg. Her costumes are breathtaking. The great Travis Banton designed her wardrobe! He was responsible for so many iconic looks, and he made most of Carole Lombard’s gowns.
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