My First Vintage

My twin sister and I are the youngest of five girls. And we are the daughters of a most stylish mom. When I was little, our house was dream for any girl who liked to pass hours playing dress-up. There were always cast-offs to be found and coordinated with belts and beads. “Mary Poppins,” “Caddie Woodlawn,” and “Lucretia Ann on the Oregon Trail” were style inspiration.

Years later, it’s interesting to discover where dress-up ended and my vintage ways began. This is a story of my first vintage. Like so many auspicious accounts, it starts at a Saturday morning yard sale. I was in the fifth grade. The sale was hosted out of town on a secluded organic farm and my mom wasn’t optimistic that she’d find anything to her liking (“I think they’re hippies” she observed when we pulled up).

My mom wasn’t wrong, but amid the macramé and half-burnt candles, I seized upon something exquisite. All in a matching pea green hue: pumps, gloves and a beret. After some insisting ($5 is steep on yard sale Saturday), they were mine. Once home, I cleared a bedroom shelf to display them.

When I assembled these pieces for their group photo today, I noticed something new. For all these years, I thought the pumps, gloves and beret were a matched set. They aren’t! Decades ago, one perfect woman cobbled together a set of accessories so perfectly paired that they’d pass as mates. What thoughtfulness. I’m proud to be the steward of such an elegant trio.

These days, my first vintage has a lot of company. But I consider these an emblem of the moment I first knew I could (and should!) express myself creatively. I would have loved to meet the woman who shared my favorite shade of green and who probably felt self-conscious about her size 8.5 feet. I want to tell her that in 2013, we all have size 8.5 feet.

Kept Woman Wednesday: Bell, Book, and Candle (1958)

For 25 years, I thought the movie "Bell, Book, and Candle" (1958) was about an Oregon trail-era schoolmarm. Indeed, it is about a lonely single women and a house cat, but our heroine is a witch. A manipulative, leotard-wearing witch whose intentions falter from flirtation to true love.

For reasons literary and archetypal, I'm always eager to assess a witch story. In "Bell, Book, and Candle," sorcery is the primary distinction, but Kim Novak's character Gil is surrounded by additional metaphors of "otherness."

Jazz!
In 1957, "Funny Face" illustrated to the movie going masses that jazz clubs were at the heart of la vie beatnik. And free-thinking beatniks are surely analogous to the ominous portent of a witch.

Art!
To an outsider, the world of art is a faceted one, with its own vocabulary and pieces collected or disseminated with enchanted focus. So, of course Gil is a proprietress of a gallery - the exclusivity, specific vernacular and idol worship is much like the realm of a witch.

Pants!
Technically it's a catsuit, but Gil spends a lot of time wearing pants. And, in the 1950s what is a stronger symbol of power and self-reliance than menswear? A witch is a powerful woman; powerful women wear pants...

Regardless of a woman's ability to conjure, clearly any association can draw outsider status. It should be welcomed. Along with those feminine wiles, wicked ways and the classic: "women's intuition." As Aunt Jet Owens says in Practical Magic, "There's a little witch in all of us."

(See Life magazine for more of the enchanted Kim Novak.)

Oscar Night: The Way You Look Tonight

In an unexpected medley of (at times rakish) charm and talent, all the entertainers in tonight's Academy Awards opening number were delightful.*

While I am usually very protective of all things Ginger Rogers, I wholly appreciate Charlize Theron('s stylist) channeling Hollywood's loveliest dancer and comedienne.

The CT's dancing to "The Way You Look Tonight"

Fred and Ginger in a performance of "They Can't Take That Away From Me" in The Barleys of Broadway (1949)

* Postscript: So, in the light of day, it's come to my attention that maybe some failed to enjoy the Oscars telecast? Tiresome.

Hostess Pajamas: Enchantedly Eccentric

1. Gone with the Wind
2. Tom Tierney's Grace Kelly paper dolls
3. Lucretia Ann on the Oregon Trail (see page 15)

The above are my first indelible interactions with fashion. Gowns of satin, brocade and velvet weren't just costumes or tailor-made treasures, they were like department store windows framing my future wardrobe. It was only a matter of time before turgid, tortured adolescence was past and my suspended sartorial intentions would premiere! I've combated, surmounted, and yet still surrender to a lot of insecurities. But none of them have ever extinguished my ardor for outlandish, irresistible fashions. 

The Oscars were tonight, and it reminded me of another first moment of fashion inspiration. This look has held pull position in every "Oscar's Worst Fashion" list for the past twenty years. In 1993, Whoopi Goldberg wore this:

A much more becoming ensemble when not assaulted by flash bulbs.

And I loved it. And I was seven.

Why does this appeal to a seven year old? Loud? Costumey? Ugh, no! It appealed to me because it was so obviously an homage to the most delightful, glamorous women to give definition to either word:

Judy Holliday as Billie Dawn:

Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday (1950)

Mary Tyler Moore as Laura Petrie:

Laura Petrie in season two, episode 2 of the Dick Van Dyke Show, "The Two Faces of Rob"

Ida Lupino as Barbara Jean Trenton:

Ida Lupino in season one, episode four of the Twilight Zone, "The Sixteen Millimeter Shrine." It's impossible to tell, but she's wearing pineapple print hostess pajamas, and they are perfection.

Barbie:

Barbie's "Dinner at Eight" outfit. I require this in a to-scale size four, please.

Lucy:

If you wear hostess pajamas, men like William Holden will line up to kiss you. From "LA at Last."

So, I'll never understand why Whoopi's Oscar ensemble is so enduringly despised. What has Oscar night become, if not the most glamorous parade of pretties? No look could be more eccentrically glamorous.  So, long live technicolor brocade hostess pajamas! May the dissenters languish from their deficit of fun and good humor!

My initial act of fashion defiance happened long ago. Entranced by silver screen elegance and opulence, I made a pact with my future self -- don any design that suited my particular sense of loveliness. Any era, any hue, any pattern: wear it! I have been very successfully and happily dedicated to that agreement.

Sometime early next week, a package will arrive at my door. And I'll tear and rip and scissor it opened to reveal something beautiful, inspired by Lucy, Laura, Ida, Judy, Barbie and the overt glamour of my favorite Oscars evening wear.

Kept Woman Wednesday: Anna Karenina (1935)

I've had this Kept Woman Wednesday: Fredric March Edition composed for over three weeks!

Luminous, pensive portrait from
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1931)

Originally composed for a broadcast of  "The Barretts of Wimpole Street," this post was adapted for "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," and finally compiled for "Anna Karenina." Without further ado:

In my mid-teens, to be the best possible steward of my junior high-era eccentricities, I kept copious lists. One list documented the mediocre melodramas that made me cry. Although included on the last, The Barretts of Wimpole Street (1934) didn't actually incur sobs. It incurred swooning, and I listed it on romantic principle. Elizabeth Barrett! Robert Browning! Mid-nineteenth century drawing rooms! The premise of their romance appealed to me: here a shut-in poet, borrowing from the Rapunzel archetype, created eloquent verses that brought forth this unbounded debonair prince -- who, in retrospect was merely an enthusiastic poet. It was a perfect romance for a sentimental, friendless teenager. Yes, I say: perfect.

How do I love thee?

Robert Browning was played by Fredric March, perhaps my second favorite classic film leading man (after the unrivaled James Stewart). He was so talented and handsome, but, even better, unafraid of rich content. Many of his most significant roles were marked by unusual and nontraditional choices. He won his first Oscar for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931). Indeed, the duality of the performance is attractive to any actor, but this pre-code production is so surprisingly racy and wrenchingly creepy.

Another pre-code confection is Design for Living (1933) a superior piece of film (Lubitsch!), if only for providing documentation of Fredric March in the second most handsome tuxedo in all cinema (after the unrivaled Fred Astaire). But there's more! The famous stage play had a inhibition-less romantic plot that included a perceptible homosexual subtext. The film version was slightly subdued, but still a saucy story for the early 1930s.

Even later in his career, Fredric March knew that the story was best served by characters, not necessarily heroes, and that's illustrated by his role as a fundamentalist politician in Inherit the Wind (1960). Some of his other roles I most appreciate are: A Star is Born (Mrs. Norman Maine!), Nothing Sacred and The Best Years of our Lives.

Nothing Sacred (1937)

For me, they're memorable portrayals because they weren't overwhelmed by an egotistical demeanor. No, it seemed that he played very faceted rolls, informed by great character. As he and his fellow actors confirmed:

"To me characterization is the whole fun of acting. Every part is a character part." -- Fredric March

Shelley Winters remembered: "He was able to do a very emotional scene with tears in his eyes, and pinch my fanny at the same time." (Their film together: Executive Suite).

Fredric March, about Richard Burton: "He has a terrific way with women. I don't think he has missed more than half a dozen."

And my favorite: When March's 1938 return to Broadway in "Yr. Obedient Husband" was a resounding failure, he and [co-star and wife]Florence Eldridge placed an ad in the trades that showed a sketch depicting them as two trapeze artists missing each other's grip in midair. "Oops. Sorry." read the caption.

Told you so...

A magnanimous mention of "A Damsel in Distress" (1937) is validated courtesy of NPR critic Lloyd Schwartz. See.

Kept Woman Wednesday: The Girl Can't Help It (1956)

I was a tad frustrated to discover that Turner Classic Movies’ star of the month is…blondes. Huh? I think it does a real disservice to blondes. Judy Holliday is nothing like Doris Day is nothing like Jayne Mansfield, and yet they’re all huddled together by their hair color.

Conceptually, I’m opposed. Trust me, TCM, I think Betty Grable could handle a month all to herself. But, in terms of scheduling, Wednesday has never looked so good. Tonight, it’s a Marilyn and Jayne film festival, which includes “The Girl Can’t Help It.” Anything I could possible describe is joyously detailed in this video tribute from John Waters.

What earns elaboration is Jayne’s relationship with the press. In this video, John Waters describes her as the “parody of Marilyn Monroe…an insane Marilyn,” persona that she controlled. As John says, “Anyone that has a bar that is open 8 hours in their house -- for the press– which she did have – is a girl after my own heart.”

I’m really pleased that a Jayne Mansfield movie is scheduled this week, because I was going to post about her anyway. In another John Waters interview I’ve seen, he describes how Jayne would alert the photographers prior to strolling down Hollywood Boulevard in a bikini with a Chihuahua under her arm.

Jayne seemed to say “don’t let’s be subtle about this whole fame thing.” Which is why this photog encounter with Katherine Heigl seemed so desperate in nature. She certainly looks classy – but don’t let that Rachel Zoe ensemble fool you – it’s ol’ Katherine’s version of Jayne’s beachwear. It seems to humorlessly bellow "please look at me!" This is quite different from Jayne, not only in yardage, but because it's like John Waters says, "How can it be pitful if you're in on the joke?" Maybe someone could give Katherine a hint.

(Katherine Heigl photo credit goes to one of these three: PacificCoastNews, Flynetpictures, style.com)