I try to read all Anthony Lane’s New Yorker movie reviews because they are so smart and funny. Recently he wrote an article, an adoration really, of Barbara Stanwyck, who was born 100 years ago. She was a versatile actress, and the public never really knew her personal life. It struck a chord with me in relationship to the multiple identities I and other visual artists take on.
“When I think of the glory days of American film,” writes Lane, “at its speediest and most velvety, I think of Barbara Stanwyck.”
He quotes from the Howard Hawks film, “Ball of Fire” (1941) to Stanwyck by Gary Cooper: “Make no mistake, I shall regret the absence of your keen mind. Unfortunately, it is inseparable from an extremely disturbing body.”
And a Stanwyck character speaks in a Frank Capra film “Clash by Night”: “What kind of animal am I? Do I have fangs, do I purr? What kind of jungle am I from? You don’t know anything about me.”
To which Lane answers: “No, and it drives us mad. Crazy about you, baby.”
Now is that a love letter, or what?
No comments:
Post a Comment