And While We're on the Subject...

Here's some Dorothy Sebastian, because it's also been far too long since she's been here.

Obligatory Dorothy Sebastian Birthday Post

If Dorothy Sebastian were to clutch my head lovingly to her bosom, I'd probably be making that face, too.

Our Dancing Daughters Revisited

Long-time readers--if there are any--will note that I have fawned over 1928's Our Dancing Daughters (and to a lesser extent, its two pseudo-sequels) more than a few times in the past. Thus far, however, I've not really offered any detailed comment on the picture, at least not beyond the usual obtuse references. Now that I have seen the picture for a second time, I think it's time I gave it a proper review.

Our Dancing Daughters revolves around the romantic foibles of three well-to-do young ladies -- Diana (Joan Crawford), Beatrice (Dorothy Sebastian) and Ann (Anita Page). Diana and Ann have both set their sights on Ben Blaine (Johnny Mack Brown), but Ann manages to snatch him up first, much to Diana's chagrin. Melodrama ensues.

Diana is very much a character of the era -- the seemingly wild flapper who is actually quite virtuous. Ann, meanwhile, is a dipsomaniac and a gold-digger, interested in Ben for his money as much as his good looks. Of the three girls, however, it is Beatrice who is the most interesting. She is a faithful friend to Diana and very much in love with a dashing young fellow named Norman (Nils Asther), but at the same time she is haunted by certain misdeeds in her past (it isn't revealed precisely what these misdeeds are, but we may infer with some confidence). Beatrice does marry Norman, although her troubled past causes some difficulty for the married couple. While it's true that the primary focus of the picture is the Diana-Ben-Ann love triangle, the Beatrice sub-plot is intriguing in its own right (it's unfortunate that it was not fleshed out a little more, I think). In any event, Diana and Ben do eventually wind up together, after Ann is removed from the picture by means of a drunken tumble down a flight of stairs.

With all of that said, the question remains -- is it a good picture? In all honesty, it probably depends on your criteria. As you might imagine from the synopsis offered above, Our Dancing Daughters is a bit thin in terms of character development and plot. On the other hand, it's certainly a well-photographed picture, and the art direction is top-notch -- everything from the set design to the costumes is absolutely lovely, oozing with 1920s awesomeness. Indeed, the very fact that it is such a product and such a relic of its time is what makes Our Dancing Daughters so interesting to watch (notwithstanding the fact that it features three of my favorite actresses). Perhaps it isn't a classic masterpiece of American cinema, but I enjoyed watching it, and I imagine most others interested in the era would enjoy it as well. If nothing else, Our Dancing Daughters must rank highly on my list of guilty pleasures.

Free Associations, Ep. 10

Now just you put that bat down and hear me out on this.

Perhaps the similarities lie not so much in the characters of Ren and Stimpy themselves, but in a particular episode. In the episode Stimpy's Fan Club, it is revealed that Stimpy is by far the more popular of the duo, receiving scores of fan letters whilst Ren receives not a single one. Ren is quite hurt by this, so Stimpy attempts to make him feel better by apointing him president of the Stimpy Fan Club. This only forces Ren to read more and more of Stimpy's fan mail, which begins to drive him insane.

Ren's anger and resentment boils over in what has to be one of the most unsettling sequences ever included in what was allegedly a cartoon for kids. As he watches Stimpy sleep, Ren launches into a psychotic monologue and plots to kill Stimpy. He plans to snap Stimpy's neck, but suffers a rather graphic nervous breakdown before the deed can be carried out. The next morning, Ren disguises himself as Stimpy, and tells the mailman not to deliver any more fan mail. The mailman, however, only has one fan letter and it is for Ren. Ren viciously taunts Stimpy as he reads his fan letter aloud, only to find out that the letter was from Stimpy himself. Ren feels like a total ass, and Stimpy, ever the magnanimous one, forgives Ren.

To me, this seems like a fairly accurate parallel to the respective careers of Joan and Dorothy--the dumb one (Joan) became immensely popular while the smart one (Dorothy) suffered in obscurity. And although it (probably) never happened, the image of Joan and Dorothy doing the Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy dance is so silly that it actually causes me physical pain.

St. Dorothy of Birmingham

Today marks the 106th anniversary of the birth of Dorothy Sebastian. I let the date go by without celebration last year, and Dorothy appeared to me in a dream and scolded me for missing her birthday (actually, she was scolding me for killing a cat earlier in the dream, but I'm sure she meant to get on my case about the birthday thing, too).

Dorothy was one among the scores of young beauties who came to Hollywood in search of fame and fortune. Unfortunately, like so many other young hopefuls, Dorothy never quite broke through to the highest firmament of moving picture stardom. She never managed to land a solid leading role, and her all-too-brief career came to an abrupt end in the early 1930s. Thereafter she was largely out of the public eye, notwithstanding a few appearances in the courtroom. Dorothy is nowadays remembered for her supporting roles opposite such names stars as Greta Garbo and John Gilbert, as well as for her off-screen romance with Buster Keaton. Yet there is much more than that to the story of Dorothy Sebastian.

Dorothy was born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, the third of four children. In 1924 She set out for New York in search of bigger and better things, spending time as a model and a chorus girl in George White's Scandals, a revue very much in the spirit of Ziegfeld's famous Follies. It was during this time that she landed her first picture contract, and she appeared in her first on-screen role the following year. Dorothy's prospects for stardom took a major leap forward in 1926, when she signed with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (the contract would be extended in 1928). It was during her years at MGM that Dorothy made her most memorable film appearances, and rubbed elbows and lived the high life with some of the biggest names in the industry.

The good times, of course, never do last. Dorothy lost a few roles to other actresses--including a leading role opposite John Barrymore in 1928's Tempest that she believed would have made her a star. A nervous breakdown in 1930 only added to her troubles, and in 1931 she left MGM (whether she turned down a contract or was simply not offered one is not certain, but I have my nagging suspicions that the latter is the more likely scenario). Whatever the circumstances might have been, Dorothy's chances for stardom were essentially shot; she made a few pictures on poverty row and appeared in bit parts later on, but her ship had sailed.

Why is it that Dorothy never made it big in pictures? She was well-liked by just about everyone who met her, and she was certainly pretty enough for the silver screen. Perhaps she lacked a few elements of the ever-elusive Star Quality--Dorothy was great when she had good co-stars and good material to work with (as in her MGM pictures), but she couldn't carry a weak film like a Bette Davis could. Along those same lines, Dorothy didn't seem to have the temperament for the underhanded wheeling and dealing of studio politics--she freely admitted that she had little regard for studio hierarchy, and that she "talked right up to everyone".

But that mistake, I suspect, hints at the real reason Dorothy didn't make the cut in Hollywood: she simply didn't drink the proverbial Kool-aid. Dorothy never seemed quite willing or able to buy into the self-delusional madness that was the star system. Everything I've read about her suggests that she was much too honest to thrive in an environment where so many people were just as affected off the screen as they were when the cameras were rolling. Furthermore, she didn't possess the sheer ruthlessness required to be a major star, the ability to put her career before anything and everything else. Perhaps, at the end of the day, Dorothy was simply too much of a good scout to be a true movie star.

There might have been bigger stars or maybe even a few better actors in Old Hollywood than Dorothy Sebastian, but one would indeed be hard pressed to find a better person than she was. That she should have died from cancer at the relatively young age of 54 seems the ultimate injustice. Godspeed you, Dorothy Sebastian, wherever you are, and Happy Birthday. The bastards didn't deserve you.

[Image Sauce]

To Celebrate the Inauguration of a New President...

I'll probably be doing this all night long.

Vignettes of Absurdity: Poverty Row Luncheon

Poverty Row, c. 1935Dorothy: Wait a minute, are we really going to eat a puppy?

Anita: Well, it's either that or McDonald's again.

Dorothy: Ugh. McDonalds. No thank you.

Anita: Really. And besides, Garbo threatened to call the cops if she found us going through her trash again.

Dorothy: Couldn't we just mooch off of Joan for a while longer?

Anita: Dot, I know Joan's been a real sport about letting us crash on her couch since 1934, but I think she's gotten a bit tired of us. Every time she brings home a virile young man, there we are, stinking of gin and playing Mario Kart until all hours.

Dorothy: Yeah, you're right. And I think Joan's still secretly pissed at me for downing her entire bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label in a single night.

Anita: You might say that.

Dorothy: Ah, the good old days.

Anita: Oh man, I can't wait to eat this puppy. Say, what goes best with puppy, red wine or white?

Dorothy: Well, considering we only have a bottle of Night Train and two forties of Olde English 800, I'm gonna say red.

Anita: It's gonna be an Easter weekend to remember!

(fin)

Proof that I am not an Artist

There's a reason I didn't pursue a degree in Art. Hell, I didn't even go to New York. Dorothy did go to New York, but probably never did study art. My creation might work as a wallpaper, if your monitor is set to a huge resolution (and you are a horrible nerd, like me).

Relevant to my Interests, Ep. 10

Dorothy Sebastian, Joan Crawford and Anita Page show off the goods in a promotional shot from 1928's Our Dancing Daughters. I need to see this film before I die. Not necessarily because it is a masterpiece of cinema, mind you, but because I am a terrible fanboy. If I have to buy a VCR just so I can watch it on VHS, then so be it. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, dammit.

At this juncture I am so very tempted to analyze the significance of Joan's character being named Diana, after the Roman goddess of the hunt (who was also a virgin, by the way). I am equally tempted to engage in an unnecessary exegesis of Dorothy's playing a character named Beatrice (the name of the woman with whom Dante Alighieri, the greatest poet in all of western literature, was smitten throughout his life). Despite those temptations, I will refrain. I needn't give the reader any further evidence that I am truly crazy.

The Women (1939)

Few movies are as true to their titles as is The Women. There's not a Y chromosome in the entire film. Not that I minded terribly; men can be very annoying, and I found myself glad to be rid of them while watching this movie.

The Women follows the story of socialite Mary Haines, whose husband, unbeknown to her, has been unfaithful to his wife (to put it blithely), seeing perfume saleswoman Crystal Allen on the side. Hilarity ensues as, thanks to a loose-lipped manicurist, Mary learns of her husbands extracurricular activity, and files for a divorce. Mary's so called friends, among them the odious Sylvia Fowler, delight in her downfall, wretched gossips that they are. Of course, this being 1939, everything works out in the end, with everyone getting their just desserts.

Mary Haines is played by Norma Shearer, who gives an admirable and sympathetic performance of the wronged wife. Joan Crawford plays Crystal, the gold-digging homewrecker par excellence, and she turns in quite a performance (although her hairdresser, it must be said, deserves a traitor's death. Joan sports a rather unflattering coiffure throughout the flick, sad to say). The two work extremely well as rivals in the film, since they were fierce studio rivals at MGM in the 1930s, and probably hated each other. Seriously, there's a cat fight that I'd pay good money to see.

The character I really loathed (as I no doubt was supposed to) was Sylvia Fowler, played well by Rosalind Russel. Russel does a fine job of being a manipulative, obnoxious, conniving shrew--I wanted to backhand Mrs. Fowler no fewer than a half-dozen times.

The film is in black and white, with the exception of a Technicolor fashion show, apparently inserted into the movie with the sole purpose of showing off the haute couture of costume designer Adrian. This, I thought, was a bit much, and I can understand why the sequence isn't always included in showings of The Women. On the other hand, it was enjoyable to see some of the incredibly gaudy outfits, some of which I can't possibly imagine any respectable woman wearing, even back in the day. Of course, The Women was produced on the even of the 1940s, and I find 40s styles in many ways atrocious, especially when it comes to women's hairstyles.

As a personal note, I was glad to see Dorothy Sebastian back on screen, even if hers was only an uncredited, bit part. I could barely recognize her with blond hair (which, I might add, was done up in hairdo on par with Joan's. I don't know who was responsible for styling the hair in this movie, but they are dire need of a beating).whoops, never mind that part.

I rather enjoyed The Women. I found the recurring references to Jungle Red particularly amusing, especially Mary's remark about her "claws" at the end of the movie. If I ever find myself leading an armored division into battle, rest assured that "Jungle Red" will be our battlecry.

And did I really just write several paragraphs arguing about costume design and hairstyles? Good God. Pardon me, but I have to go play some violent video games while listening to Death Metal.

Relevant to my Interests, Ep. 7

Dorothy Sebastian is a silent star who doesn't get nearly as much love as she deserves, neither here nor most other places (she does, however, get a respectable amount of love at her de facto official website, whence the above photograph originates. Nameless webmistress, you are truly too awesome for words!)

The more I think about it, the more Ms. Sebastian becomes my favorite of the stars of yesteryear. She may not have the ethereal beauty of a Joan Crawford or a Greta Garbo, but she has--or should that be had?--an allure all her own, one much more personable and more approachable than the others. From what I've read, she had a personality to match, being free of the eccentricities of which many actresses of the day seemed so fond. It's a shame her career didn't take off the way it should have.

By way of a non sequitor denouement, I love that hat she's wearing.

Vignettes of Absurdity: Royale With Cheese

Dorothy: Hey Joan, you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?

Joan: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?

Dorothy: No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.

Joan: Then what do they call it?

Dorothy: They call it a Royale with cheese.

Joan: A Royale with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?

Dorothy: Well, a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.

Joan: Le Big-Mac. Heh. What do they call a Whopper?

Dorothy: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.

Relevant to my Interests, Ep. 3

Dorothy Sebastian, who--perhaps not coincidentally--starred alongside previous girlfriends Joan Crawford and Anita Page in 1928's Our Dancing Daughters and 1930's Our Blushing Brides.