AVERY, GOTTLIEB & ROTHKO: BY THE SEA

Cape Ann Museum

Gloucester, MA (Ending September 27)

 

 

Adolphe Gottlieb "Over and Under" 

  

The above show is likely to end before most of you can get to Gloucester but if you can, be sure to see it. I wouldn’t call it my favorite art show of the year, but it’s certainly high on the list of the most intriguing. 

 

Milton Avery, "Gloucester Dawn," 1921

  

On the surface, these three would seem an unlikely match. Milton Avery (1885-1965) is best known for his throwback pre-Renaissance painting style, one that deliberately flattens the canvas. Avery is one of the preeminent colorists of American painting. There are discernible objects and people on the canvas, but he paid little attention to what their “natural” color should be. Faces are often blank or rendered so quickly that details dissolve into a mass of whatever color he chooses. You can read into them any expression that you wish, but most people say that they evoke calmness. His work is sometimes compared to that of Ernst Kirchner, though to my eye Avery’s work seems joyful and Kirchner’s danger and doom. Avery also painted domestic scenes and collaborated with his artist-wife Sally Michel Avery.

 

 

 

Mark Rothko. Wharf, 1924 

 

The most famous of the trio was Mark Rothko (1903-70) who was also the most polarizing of the three. His earliest inspirations were Paul Klee and Henri Matisse, but he was perhaps even more influenced by psychologists Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung. The stereotype of Rothko, though, is that he only painted colors. Before you actually stand before such works you might think, “What’s the big deal? My 5-year-old could paint a canvas that’s all black.” No; he couldn’t! And no; Rothko was not mono-dimensional. More on this in a moment. 

 

Gottlieb, Boxes on the Beach, 1938

 

 

I confess that the name Adolphe Gottlieb (1903-74) was merely one I ran across from time to time, but knew little about. He was the founder of The Ten, a group that did much to popularize abstract expressionism. His pictographs caught my eye. To me they evince what you might get if you mixed sea motifs with Aboriginal and Japanese art. This, I hasten to add, is my emotional response to his works, not something you’d learn in Art 100.

 

So how do you hang a show of three artists who don’t immediately seem relatable? We can start with the fact that three were great friends. The show in Gloucester is there because all three came to Cape Ann during summers in the 1920s into the 1940s. Why Gloucester? Because it was several of the dozens of art colonies that thrived during the Depression and war years. It’s amusing the think of this now, but locales in the east alone such as Ogunquit, Gloucester, Provincetown, the White Mountains, the Brandywine region of Pennsylvania, Saratoga Springs, the Hudson River Valley, and sections of New York City were filled with artists who came there because they were cheap places to live! If you look in the right places, you can make out small shacks in which they lived (especially in the Perkins Cove section of Ogunquit, Maine).

 

Another important thing to keep in mind is that where artists end up often bears little resemblance to where they started. Avery, Rothko, and Gottlieb were all realists at one stage of their career; all three eventually embraced abstract expressionism, a term whose very ambiguity tells you something. Once one stops trying to paint realistically, new ways of seeing open up. Rothko, for instance, was once a member of the Industrial Workers of the World and could have spent his career as a propagandist. But then he went to Gloucester to paint boats and crashing waters. Next, he was a surrealist, but his career arc was one of simplification. Why not paint three color swatches for a beach, water, and sky?

 

Below I offer several paintings from each artist. I start with the ones that are most “realistic” (another loaded word) and end with one of their later works. Even if you can’t get to Gloucester, you’ll see their work elsewhere. What do they express for you?

 

 

Milton Avery: Confession: He's a favorite of mine! 

 

Portrait of Rothko 1933

 

Shore Sitters, late 1930s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Mark Rothko

 

 

 

You've seen how he started. What do you make of these?
 

 

 

           

 

Sand, Ocean, Sky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Adolphe Gottlieb 

 

Rockport, 1934

Mariners Incantation, 1945

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Forgotten Dream, 1946 

Note: the top photo is a Gottlieb work from 1959 

 

Hidden History Uncloaked in The Night Birds

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE NIGHT BIRDS (2007)

By Thomas Maltman

SoHo Publishing, 370 pages.

★★★★★

 

There are many books named The Night Birds, but the one to read is from Thomas Maltman, which was published in 2007. To call it a different kind of Western doesn’t do it justice.

 

First a quiz: Name the president who declined to stop the largest single-day execution in American history. Answer: Abraham Lincoln. It wasn’t traitorous Confederates dancing on the end of ropes. On December 26, 1862, 38 Dakota Sioux warriors were hanged in response to a clash between Natives and German settlers near Mankato, Minnesota. Maltman uses the Sioux uprising in his work of fiction, but also did his homework. As an old TV series once put, “Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.”

 

Our narrator is Asa Senger, a lonely boy in 1876. An elderly Dakota Sioux man is found near a Kingdom Township home. This touches off fear in the area, though the man is a frail, trader. Minnesota was once a dangerous place for whites to be, even in areas where whites and Natives lived in relative peace. Though Asa was born in a few months after the uprising of 1862, his parents remain wary and retain their animus against the Sioux. Into Asa’s life comes Aunt Hazel, his mother sister. She has been in an asylum for 14 years because of her epilepsy. Bromide had been used to control epilepsy since 1861, but it took years for this knowledge to make its way into remote areas. The Sengers only reluctantly accept guardianship over Hazel and she is mostly confined to an attic room. Asa is warned that his aunt is delusional.

 

Asa, though, grows curious of his aunt, who tells him stories but swears him to secrecy. What tales she tells! At this point I should warn readers that both Germans and the Sioux had a penchant for recycling names, the Germans believing they paid homage to deceased relatives by naming babies after them, and mystical Sioux believing the spirits of the dead can be reborn. Hazel had a brother named Asa who died in the1862 massacre, along with both of her parents. The Senger family lived across a small river from a Sioux encampment and young Hazel slowly cultivated Sioux playmates. Her parents regularly traded with the Sioux. Though suspicious of each other, a fragile truce prevailed. Hazel learned some Dakota and grew close to Wanikiya, a boy roughly her age, who grows up to be an important person amongst the Dakota. Asa also learns that Wanikiya killed his “Uncle Asa” and that Hazel was a captive during the war. Her story is certainly not in keeping with the many so-called “captive narratives” that proliferated from Colonial period through the 19^th century.

 

The Night Birds is a multi-generational family story that, in its own unique way, is a melting pot story. Reading it will enlighten you about American history, peels back hidden cowboys-and-Indians myths, and shows how easy it is for victors to reinvent the past. At a time in which immigrants are imperiled in the United States, it also raises questions about who and what an American is. It is noteworthy that the Senger family had to flee Missouri because of their abolitionist views, yet somehow don’t connect the dots regarding Native Americans.

 

Maltman’s novel is filled with small details that help readers imagine life on the edge of the frontier. Maltman makes us contemplate what it would be like to plow land that has never seen a blade and to live where you nearest neighbors don’t look, dress, or speak like you. He also subtly juxtaposes individuals and circumstances. There is scalping, but it’s often done by white bounty hunters or in war as trophies. In a book in which Young Asa encounters Jesse James, who is a “savage,” the Dakotas who killed Asa’s forebears or the ruthless James-Younger gang?

 

Perhaps it’s best to muse upon the book’s title. The “night birds” are not owls or hawks; they are nocturnal nightjars, small fowl slightly bigger than sparrows who sleep during the day, roost on the ground, and are so well camouflaged you could be on top of one and never see it.  The are insectivores, but their prolonged call and trill is downright eerie. Now think of life with minimal illumination.

 

Forget books with similar titles; this older novel is one of the best books I’ve read this year.

 

Rob Weir

 

Take My Turban, Please

 

I’m turning in my turban and crystal ball. I’m done with baseball prognostication. I officially suck. Every year I get excited by spring training rosters and scouting reports. Every year those rosters change faster than a lane-jumping Massachusetts driver. I’m 1 for 6 in predictions, which is roughly the batting average of a lot of MLB players who should be loading trucks instead of pretending to be professional athletes.

You have the right to make fun of me. Here’s what I predicted.

AL East:  Blue Jays, Yankees, Red Sox, Orioles, and Rays. Yep, I had the Rays dead last and, natch, they are in first. The Yankees could still possibly slip past the Rays but that’s unlikely. About all I got right was predicting the Red Sox would do much better than naysayers predicted. Oh yeah, I also predicted that Gerrit Cole would not do well coming back from surgery and that Giancarlo Stanton would go on the IL. Cole probably has neck problems from watching home runs soar over the wall. It was a no-brainer to predict Stanton would get hurt again.

NL East: Mets, Phillies, Braves, Marlins, Nationals. I got the well-duh! bottom two, but the Mets have been putrid. I gave the Braves dark-horse status, so I was sort of on the right track with them. But I’m gobsmacked by how the Mets can spend so much money and stink like a New Jersey landfill.

AL Central: Tigers, Royals, Guardians, Twins, White Sox. You’re used to this by now. My pick for the basement is now in first place, though the Guardians are just a game back. My pick for second? In last place, just a few games ahead of the Tigers, who played like an endangered species and traded their two most-talented pitchers (Skubal & Mize). I wish KC would change their name to the KC Blues and go back to being a farm team for the Yankees. Bobby Witt deserves better. For what it’s worth, it’s possible that no one in the pathetic AL Central will finish above .500!

NL Central: Cubs, Pirates, Brewers, Reds, Cardinals. The Cubs have had a fine year and Pete Crow-Armstrong should be the MVP, but the Brewers have the best record in MLB. The Pirates? Third in baseball’s second-worst division. With luck they can finish above .500 but there will be no playoff ball in the Steel(ers) City.

AL West: Mariners, A’s, Astros, Rangers, Angels. Okay, I’m totally done with the 10-games under .500 Mariners. They are as overrated as Seattle’s Best Coffee. Who’s in first? The Astros, though the Rangers despite playing .486 baseball are just three games back. This tells you just how bad the AL West is. The A’s are only 4 games better than the Angels, who have down for so long it (always) looks like up to them. (Old blues song!) How could they have wasted Mike Trout’s career by being so inept?

NL West: Dodgers, Padres, Diamondbacks, Giants, Rockies.  Bingo! I’m five for five, though how hard was it to pick the Dodgers? They are so loaded that they ran away with the division even with Ohtani on the IL for much of the year. The Padres simply can’t keep up with the Billionaire Dodgers, who are odds-on favorites to win their third World Series in a row. The Pads will be lucky to fend off the D’Backs who are a mere game behind for a Wild Card. Substantial change is needed in San Fran before they can compete, but they’re still miles ahead of Colorado, MLB’s worst team. I propose they change their name to The Rock’ems.

No World Series predictions from me. With my luck, the Guardians will wear the Crown!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twain's End: Speculative History or the Real Deal?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWAIN’S END (2015)

By Lynn Cullen

Gallery Books, 368 pages

★★★★

 

Samuel Langhorne Clemens, who wrote under the pseudonym Mark Twain, is perhaps the most-heralded American writer of all time. He was also an in-demand public speaker known for his humor and grasp of vernacular language. Millions have visited his home of 17 years in Hartford, Connecticut. Those who dig into biography are often astonished to learn that like many so-called “funny men,” Sam Clemens was not as jolly as his public persona. By the early 20^th century, it would be appropriate to say that he was an imperious, depressed crank who had begun to disappear into his fictional identity. His life had been marked by one misfortune after another.

 

That famed Hartford home was closed in 1891, as the family was deeply in debt, courtesy of Sam having squandered the equivalent of $10 million on failed inventions. They left to live in Europe, which in those days was cheaper. Sam further embarked on a world speaking tour to raise money. In late 1900, Clemens retired his debt courtesy of his earnings, a robber baron friend who secured his copyrights, and the management of Ralph Ashcroft. Yet Sam was not a happy man. His favorite child Susie died in 1896 at age 24, and his sickly wife Livy (Olivia) was bedridden by the time they moved to New York. Sam hired Isabel Lyon to be Livy’s personal secretary/nurse, but he commanded more of her time than Livy. When Livy died in 1902, a morose Samuel Clemens began to disappear into Mark Twain.

 

Novelist Lynn Cullen picks up the narrative in 1909, when he was about to move into a large Tuscan-style villa dubbed “Stormfield”* in Redding, CT. Though named for a Twain character, the remainder of Twain’s life were indeed stormy.  Cullen’s Twain’s End puts forth some debatable history; but it’s based upon a diary kept by Lyon. In March of 1909, Twain blessed the marriage of Isabel Lyon and Ralph Ashcroft. One month later, he fired them both and penned a 429-page screed in which he accused Isabel of swindling his money, treachery, and being a “salacious slut.” At least that’s Twain’s story.

 

Cullen pieces threads to give credence to a different tale. Did Isabel marry Ralph because Twain would not marry her? Cullen lays out the possibility that Twain’s flirtations and Isabel’s ambitious mother led Isabel into a coquettish role that blinded her to thing such as Sam’s increasingly eccentric behavior, his cruelty toward surviving daughters Jane (aka/Jean) and Clara, and the enormous difference in their ages. In 1909, Isabel would have been 46 and Sam an over-ripe 74. The last point raises the question of whether Twain and Lyon had ever been intimate. That’s unlikely when Livy was alive, but Cullen is willing to consider that Isabel may have engaged in dangerous flirting, such as giving Sam massages and dropping hints that she would be open to sexual intimacies that he allegedly rebuffed. After the public blowup, Twain even repossessed Isabel’s cottage On Christmas Eve of 1909, Jean died of an epileptic seizure in her bath. Any ounce of sympathy Sam had left went down the plughole with Jean’s life. Cullen casts Jean in a pragmatic peacekeeper role, as opposed to her younger sister Clara (1874-1962), who was (if possible) more vain, cruel, and irresponsible than her father. She hated Isabel and saw her as a gold digger, though she might have been protecting her own anticipated fortune.

 

Barring more evidence, there is no way to resolve these clashing narratives. Twain’s End could be close to the truth, or merely a fanciful work of imagination. You can, however, learn a lot about the vanities of fading Gilded Age elites from Cullen’s novel. Did Helen Keller engage in a love triangle with Annie Sullivan’s husband John Macy? There’s more evidence for this than of Twain being intimate with Isabel, but Twain’s parlor room rudeness toward Lyon during Keller’s visit to Stormfield would been in keeping with class deference expectations. Not to mention Sam’s vanity in building a mansion at a time in which he expected to die. He always predicted that since he was born in 1835 when Haley’s Comet was in the sky, he would “go out with Haley’s Comet.” Samuel Clemens/Mark Twain died on April 21, 1910, when the comet was visible. Isabel and Ralph never sued the estate, but what does this tell us? Draw your own conclusions. Guess who got Sam’s money.

 

Rob Weir

 * The original Stormfield burned in 1923. It was rebuilt but is a private home not on public view. 

May December More Dull than Shocking

 

 

 

MAY DECEMBER (2023)

Directed by Todd Haynes

Netflix, 117 minutes, R (nudity, drugs, language, subject matter)

★★

 

May December is a Todd Haynes film based upon the true-life story of Mary Kay Letourneau in which she, a teacher, seduced 12-year-old student Vili Faulaau. When her crime was discovered, Letourneau was pregnant with their first child. She was sentenced to six years in prison for child-rape, which was reduced to 6 months on the condition she avoid contact with Faulaau. She violated her parole, was pregnant with their second child, and spent seven years in prison. She was 35 when she initiated sex with Faulaau, then a 6^th grader. The two married in 2005, shortly after she was released. They stayed wedded for 14 years until they divorced in 1999.

 

May December is a lightly veiled (in more ways than one) version of May Kay and Vili that relocates the affair from Washington State to Savannah, makes her student 13 instead of 12, and rechristens him as Joe Yoo (Charles Melton), who is Southeast Asian rather than Samoan. May Kay is fashioned as Gracie Atherton (Julianne Moore), who dumps her husband to play rockabye baby with Joe. Director Todd Haynes insisted that his movie was an homage to Ingmar Bergman’s Winter Light (1963) and Persona (1966). Yeah, and I’m Henry VIII, I am, I am.

 

The film was reviewed positively, won a few awards, and Melton was singled out for excellence as a supporting actor at various cinema festivals. Yet, it was a box office bomb that lost 75% of its $20 million budget. It seems that audiences found the content creepy, no matter what the critics said. I wasn’t offended by the subject matter nearly as much as I was bored. A very old movie adage holds that if you’re going to go over the top, go way over. May December could have been done as camp and it would have been a better movie.

 

A filmmaker corollary says that if you intend to make a serious film and you aren’t Ingmar Bergman, be sure to have something to say. I generally like Julianne Moore, but May December turns her into a fading magnolia rather than a MYOB spitfire. She just wants people to see her and Joe as good Georgia neighbors and community members. Fat chance when they have three biracial kids, one a college student and twins in high school. You can imagine the hazing they undergo from peers who know the deeper story. As we meet Joe, he’s a big hunk, a lunk, and blue-collar guy with a flat affect.

 

Into their lives comes a movie company wanting to film their story. Sure, there’s nothing like having a famous actress, Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman) coming to town to “study” for her upcoming role to protect one’s privacy. Berry talks to people all over Savannah about the Yoo family. Surprise! Gracie is viewed as immoral, a bad role model, and a criminal. It doesn’t help that her ex-husband badmouths her and is happy to play the role of victim, which wasn’t quite the case. Joe is cast in a victim’s role, something Berry presses him on. Did he ever feel he was groomed? Was Joe too young in 6^th grade? Did Gracie took advantage of him? He contemplates the last question, though he mostly rejects it. In more candid moments he admits to having enjoyed the sex. I’ll bet; what 13-year-old boy wouldn’t wish to get up close and personal with Julianne Moore? But he’s flirting with 40 now. 

 

Melton is the best part of the film. He plays Joe as a dim-bulb who, apparently, hadn’t thought about these matters before. That stretches credulity, but Melton almost makes us believe it. If only he hadn’t bedded Elizabeth/Portman, the story would have been more believable. (They are the pair that has the steamiest sex in the film.) Even less believable is his instant guilt, which doesn’t jive with the boredom he displays toward Gracie. We know from later in the film that Gracie and Joe separate, just before Gracie (like Mary Kay) dies from cancer.

 

The Mary Kay Letourneau story is a sad one that should have made for a dramatic retelling. “Boredom” is a word one would never expect from such material.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

Bear With Me: Dan Horowitz and Human/Bear Interactions

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BEAR WITH ME: A CULTURAL HISTORY OF FAMOUS BEARS (2025)

By Daniel Horowitz

Duke University Press, 209 pages.

★★★★ ½

 

I was watching a movie a few nights ago when I got a warning from my neighborhood listserv that a large potentially dangerous bear had been seen in my neighborhood. I get these regularly and tend to ignore them. What am I supposed to do, lasso it? Besides, Massachusetts has black bears and I’m only in danger if I’m a blueberry bush or if I’m stupid enough to get between a sow and her cubs. Your encyclopedia of choice will tell you that black bears are omnivores, but that just means that an emaciated one might resort to eating road kill. If that’s me, they’re welcome to have a nibble.

 

Understanding how humans perceive bears has been done with more panache by Smith College professor emeritus Dan Horowitz in his newest book Bear With Me. To state bias upfront, Dan is a friend and former colleague. Among the things I admire about him is that he takes popular culture seriously. After all, a solid case could be made that popular culture is American culture. He wants to explore why bears are probably the most represented animal in our culture.  Some–white and brown bears like the polar, Grizzly, and Kodiak–are indeed potentially deadly. But is popular culture to blame for dangerous encounters?  Yesterday, I saw a little girl in a park hugging her Teddy Bear. I hope that her parents have taught her that Teddy is make-believe but wild bears should never be touched.

 

Horowitz opens with “Folkloric Bears and Actual Ones.” Is the lesson of Goldilocks that bears can harm you, or merely that you shouldn’t intrude upon the property of others? Horowitz draws upon global folklore wends his way into African- American tales to highlight the ambiguity: American culture doesn’t send clear distinctions between folkloric and humorous bears from “actual” ursids. How many colleges have friendly bear mascots? What do we do with Brer Bear, Garfield’s Pooky Bear, or Yogi Bear? Fat Bear Week videos from Alaska’s Katmai region give us bears snatching salmon from the air as if they are Joey Chestnut-like competitive eaters. Horowitz follows with tales of Hugh Glass, Grizzly Adams, and Timothy Treadwell to underscore the potential fury of bears, though he speculates that bears can be linked to Manifest Destiny, a manly conquest of obstacles embedded in the wild.

 

In chapter four he returns to children, specifically tales in which bears are personified: the Three Bears, Winnie-the-Pooh, Paddington Bear, Care Bears, and the Berenstain Bears. (The latter provide an opportunity to look at backdoor antisemitism.) His dissection of Grizzly Adams again sounds an alarm. The TV series and Adams’ penchant for giving bears human names gloss reality:  “Adams forgot that he was James Capen Adams and [the bears] were not Ben Franklin or Lady Washington but rather wild bears he apparently both loved and violently trained.” In 1858, one captive bear bit through Adams’ skull and into his brain. This ultimately proved fatal.

 

Horowitz often uses the word “domination” when it comes to human/bear interactions. He makes it explicit in “Captive Bears and Their Captors as Workers,” which looks at bruins in zoos, circuses, on TV, and in films and video games. Changing mores have sparked debates over whether captive animals are being denied their natural roles. This may seem obvious, but saying so has also empowered defenders of capture practices. Mark Dumas claims to have domesticated a polar bear; others have “rescued” cubs to “teach” them how to be wild. Horowitz does not use the word “enslavement,” but he implies it. He further pinpoint sthe central dichotomy between bears as veritable monsters– “Cocaine Bear,” for instance–versus “cuddly,” friendly bears. Horowitz takes a deeper dive on Teddy Bears and Smokey the Bear, each of whom has appeared as cuddly and scary. Are bears racialized? His comparison of bears to golliwogs deserves serious contemplation.

 

Although I understand why he went there, his separate chapter on bears and gay subcultures is cursory and could have been reworked and folded into his final chapter on “bears, humans, and dangerous eroticism.” But Horowitz is spot on to make the plight of Arctic polar bears his coda. This intriguing book will please both scholars for its meticulous documentation, and general readers, who will debate his vivid examples.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

STAGE DOOR (1937)

Directed by Gregory La Cava

RKO, 92 minutes, Pre-ratings system

★★★★

 

Stage Door is often tagged as a tragicomedy. Although something quite sad happens to one of the characters, this Gregory La Cava-directed movie is heavier on the second half of that portmanteau. The movie followed the script of a play written Edna Ferber and George S. Kaufman that closed the year before the movie appeared. It made money and garnered Oscar nominations, but it was one of increasingly rare incidences in which the play earned more money.

 

If you allow for the fact that this is a Great Depression-era film, your viewing pleasure will increase. It follows the constant flow of aspirant and briefly successful actresses in and out of a boarding house controlled by a booking agency. The cast is large and impressive, though the fame of many of the headliners would come later. This older movie definitely passes the Bechdel Test, as it is a film about women talking to women. Most of the men in the Stage Door are cads. If you know anything about (if not, consult Wikipedia) Ferber or Kaufman, you can count on a lot of barbed, acerbic, and funny badinage between boarding house residents. It’s the kind of movie that could be labeled “catty,” but these women are more predator tigers than domesticated tabbies.

 

The principals include Judy Canfield (Lucile Ball), a good-times gal; Kay Hamilton (Andrea Leeds), who was a star for a season who hasn’t had a part in ages and needs money; Jean Maitland (Ginger Rogers), a sharp-tongued vixen prone to mean acts such as pilfering the silk stockings from Linda Shaw (Gail Patrick) and ruining what was likely an expensive gift from Linda’s beau, Anthony (Adolph Menjou). That was quite a nasty thing to do at a time in which good stockings sold for today’s equivalent of over $36.

 

There are several odd-fitting residents, including newbie Terry Randall (Katharine Hepburn), who Maitland and her hangers-on ridicule for using big words, her fancy wardrobe, and her polished demeanor. They assume she comes from money, but that’s only partially true. Her father is loaded, but cuts off her allowance when she insists on pursuing a stage career. They don’t know who her father is, so they assume she has a “sugar daddy.” The implication of that term is that Terry is a “kept” woman who exchanges sex for fancy duds. The irony of this is that just about every woman in the boarding house, except Terry, yearns to have a boyfriend who will treat them. I will again remind you that this is a 1936 movie. In the film the women are “man-hungry” and the men know it. Boyfriends are generally older than their dates, are well-heeled, are clearly trying to bed them, and play musical conquests from among the boarding house population. It’s a mutual exploitation society of sorts. Many of the men are somehow connected to the theatre (directors, producers, underwriters, etc.) and the women are literally hungry as well as looking for a husband. Only Hattie (Phyllis Kennedy) has the chutzpah to date a butcher!

 

The other oddballs are Southern belle Mary Lou (Margaret Early), who finds out the New York isn’t Louisiana.  Ann Miller also has role as “Annie,” a fan-girl companion to Jean who dreams of being a dancer. (Miller succeeded in that quest, though she lied about her age and was just 14 when she scored a part in Stage Door.)

 

As you can see, Stage Door had what might be called an A-level cast: Ball, Hepburn, Miller…. At the time, though, Eve Arden and Constance Collier–two of the residents– and Patrick were better known, and film critics tabbed Early for an Oscar nomination. In a way, a lot of 1930s’ movies were akin to the 1933 version of 42^nd Street in which understudy Ruby Keeler dances to fame. Hepburn-as-Terry gets a similar chance to show off her talent, courtesy of a lot of help from Eve (Eve Arden) and aging resident Ann Lutheir (Collier), though Terry has something more serious in mind.

 

It’s hard to do justice to films with a big cast. There are more serious things in the film–a tragedy, veiled critiques of backstage immorality, and sexism–but the writing is razor-sharp. Give it a try.

 

Rob Weir