{"id":3426,"date":"2005-08-01T22:10:00","date_gmt":"2005-08-02T02:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=3426"},"modified":"2022-03-22T12:19:03","modified_gmt":"2022-03-22T16:19:03","slug":"rosalind-russell-6-somebody-has-written-the-duchess","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=3426","title":{"rendered":"Rosalind Russell 6: \u201cSomebody has written the Duchess\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

Excerpt from Life Is a Banquet<\/a>\"\"<\/i>:<\/p>\n

Russell’s sister – who died very young – and who is known as “the Duchess” in Russell’s book – was an inspiration. I’ve never met the woman. I will never meet the woman. But Russell introduces me to her. Beautifully.<\/p>\n

You could have set the Duchess down anywhere, in the span of this world, and she would have made her audience laugh, and feel better. (When the typewritten manuscript of Auntie Mame<\/i> was first sent to me by its author, Patrick Dennis — the book hadn’t yet been publihsed — I sat up till late, reading it, and since I was due on a movie set early the next morning, Freddie fumed. “Put your light out, you’ll have such dark circles the cameraman will kill you.” But I was bumused. “Somebody has written my sister,” I said. “Somebody has written the Duchess.” I could have played Mame with one hand tied behind me: I’d been living with her all my life.)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

An additional excerpt about “the Duchess” – a woman I have never met, a woman who died in 1940 – and yet who is vibrantly alive for me:<\/p>\n

Once before I tried to write about the Duchess. I made some notes, but she’s hard to capture. Because she was at once totally sophisticated and absolutely naive. (This is Auntie Mame’s character too.)<\/p>\n

Example: I didn’t drink till I was about twenty-four, but two or three times when Clara and i were still living at home, I’d splash whiskey all over me like perfume and come in and put on a drunk act for her. An unspeakably bad, broad drunk act.<\/p>\n

“Hullo,” I’d say, staggering. “Wha’ you doin’ there, readin’ that apple?”<\/p>\n

Every time she’d fall for it. She’d drop her book, grab me. “Oh, come in here, close that door, oh, this is terrible, what if Mother saw you like this?”<\/p>\n

She was so sweetly dumb. And so smart. She was an authority on the Irish poets (how many loved her<\/i> moments of glad grace), she was always reading Macauley, she was funny and she was easy. My darling Duchess, I still miss her.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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