The Fabulous Forties

The ideal American beauty, circa 1941

The great screen beauties of the 1940's are a peculiar bunch: for the most part, their stardom (which, in some cases, was extraordinary) failed to outlast the decade. The wartime sirens didn't become warhorse troupers, unlike those whose fame came to the fore in the 1930's, chief among them, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, Barbara Stanwyck, Marlene Dietrich, Rosalind Russell, and Olivia de Havilland -- all of whom continued their careers with their stardom undimmed well into the future decades. And even the newer stars that followed in the 1950's, as television encroached and the studio system crumbled, seemed to have greater staying power: witness the longevity of Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, Doris Day, Sophia Loren.

Timeless faces, top to bottom: Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Marlene Dietrich, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn

The number one box office attraction of the 1940's, Betty Grable, despite remaining a beloved star and icon of her time, was washed up in pictures by 1953. The decade's reigning musical star, Judy Garland, became an even greater legend by the 1950's and 1960's, but largely on the basis of her concert performances and personal triumphs and tragedies -- Garland only acted in four more films after 1950. Only Lana Turner emerged from the 1940's with her movie stardom intact -- and even that was badly waning throughout the entire 1950's, until a potentially damning scandal gave the former Sweater Girl such notoriety that her box office appeal suddenly went into a third act revival.

Lana Turner, a legend in three acts: superstar (1947), on the skids (1950), resurrection (1959)

Most of the celluloid goddesses of the 1940's are frozen in amber, forever shrouded in the shadows of film noir, or enshrined in the nobility of wartime pluck and determination. Unlike their supercharged 1930's predecessors, their glamour wasn't a fantastical illusion, but somehow more realistic -- while still more remote, moody and less approachable than those who inherited the mantle in the 1950's. Over the next few weeks, we shall showcase some of our favorites from the fabulous, fleeting, Forties. Most made films before and after, but the basis of their stardom is contained in that one unique decade. We inaugurate this series with the Most Beautiful Girl in the World...

Why Don't You...

...wear your jewelry on your head? You'll look insane, but fabulous!

Miss American Pie

Before we reveal the identity of our latest Mystery Guest (which eluded all of you!), let's have a look at all of your incorrect guesses. We normally don't do this; but the contrast between your contenders and the actual subject is just too, too delicious!

Top row: Doris Day, Elizabeth Taylor, Sophia Loren; Middle row: Shelley Fabares, Audrey Hepburn, Sandra Dee; Bottom row: Marilyn Monroe, Leslie Caron, Brigitte Bardot

Glamorous ladies, all; but not the lady in question. Are you ready, possums? Here she is, boys; here she is, world; here's...

...MAMIE!!!

Yes, those fabulous frocks were designed by Arnold Scaasi for Mrs. Eisenhower. Just as Jacqueline Kennedy would epitomize the sleek sophistication of the early 1960's, Mamie Eisenhower was the walking embodiment of the affluent, upwardly mobile, conspicuously consumptive, yet decidedly middlebrow 1950's: the kind of woman who would want a mink coat and a Scaasi dress as status symbols, but who also clipped coupons, served tuna noodle casserole, and cast a suspicious, disapproving eye on the burgeoning social upheaval around the corner. It's a forgotten fact today, but during her husband's administration, Mamie was something of a fashion icon, idolized as the ultimate 1950's housewife: she was named to several best-dressed lists; purchased gowns from such high-end designers as Scaasi; and her 1953 Inaugural Ball gown (by Nettie Rosenstein) caused a sensation.


Interestingly, at the same time that Mrs. Eisenhower was patronizing Scaasi, so was her successor. A long-sleeved ruby dinner gown with a scalloped neckline from Scaasi's 1959 collection caught the eye of Senator Kennedy's beautiful young wife while she was shopping at Bergdorf Goodman, and later made for a striking portrait. The mouth waters at the thought of a dressing room confrontation between Mamie and Jackie, a la The Women, or better yet, a run-in at the ladies' lounge, as in Valley of the Dolls! Disparaging what she perceived as Mrs. Eisenhower's stuffy style, Jackie later wrote in a letter to her fashion mentor, Diana Vreeland, as her husband was on the presidential campaign trail, that she needed "my own little Mollie Parnis," a wicked swipe at the soon-to-be-departing First Lady's personal designer. Mrs. Kennedy also got in a pointed dig at Mamie's iconic inaugural gown; Jackie's would be "in perfect taste -- so simple and beautiful -- not lots of Nettie Rosenstein pailettes."

She and her Scaasi: Jacqueline Kennedy, 1959

Comparisons, of course, are odious; and there couldn't be two more dissimilar women. Jackie Kennedy's soon-to-be-revered style had its strongest influence from the Parisian haute couture, while Mamie Eisenhower's style was squarely rooted in middle America; and, as such, perhaps the choice of Arnold Scaasi for some of her most important gowns was not so surprising, after all. For, although his training and background was in haute couture (in Paris at the House of Paquin, and in New York with the legendary Charles James), Scaasi's trademark exuberance, opulence and more-is-more aesthetic was completely in-sync with the bigger-is-better zeitgeist of the All American Fifties. Witness his 1959 silk damask gown for Mrs. Eisenhower, specially created for a dinner with Soviet premier Nikita Krushchev; Scaasi reputedly recommended gold to be worn in order to symbolize the United States' wealth and power.


Mrs. Eisenhower purchased several gowns by Scaasi in 1959 and 1960; their bouffant- and bubble-skirted lavishness are in direct contrast to the slim shifts and sheaths that Jackie Kennedy (who preferred her bouffants and bubbles on her head) would be photographed in, courtesy of Oleg Cassini (with a little help from Givenchy). But they typify an era, as witnessed by the catalogue of starlets you SSUWAT-ers named as possible answers. Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn and Sandra Dee couldn't be more disparate "types," but they all are forever etched in amber as icons of the 1950's. So is Mamie Eisenhower, and the dresses Arnold Scaasi designed for her are masterpieces of time capsule fashion.

Mrs. Eisenhower in a full length version of the floral dress featured in our original post

For more fascinating reading about Scaasi and his fabulous coterie of clients, we heartily recommend Scaasi: American Couturier by Pamela A. Parmal, "with contributions by William DeGregorio" -- SSUWAT's longtime friend and supporter, Billy D! It's a delicious companion piece to the current exhibition of Scaasi's work at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, where Billy was Textile and Fashion Arts Department Assistant -- an exhibit we dearly hope to visit in person before it closes on June 11, 2011. Besides being a fine read and a visual treat, imagine our delight to find a hidden SSUWAT reference in one of the book's captions, courtesy of Mr. DeGregorio -- all the more reason for each and every one of you to run out and buy a copy!

Funny Face, Revisited

Growing up, we were transfixed by the flickering, glamorous images presented on the late, late show; we would set our alarm clock for 2:00 am, to catch even a heavily-edited presentation of anything from Marie Antoinette (1938) to Queen of Outer Space (1958). As technology slowly grew, we would program the VCR to tape practically every pre-1970 film that showed up on television. And then, in turn, we began collecting DVDs, downloading movies on the Internet (legally!), or even finding rarities on YouTube. But we only knew most of these vintage films, classic or obscure, as relatively small images on a TV screen, a computer monitor, or now, an iPod or iPhone. One of the reasons we love being in Manhattan, is the opportunity we get to see quite a few classic films on the big screen, often in lovingly-restored prints at Lincoln Center, MoMA, or Film Forum. And until you've seen these films as they were originally intended to be seen, you're really only getting a fraction of the enjoyment.


On November 3, the Film Society of Lincoln Center kicked off a week-long Stanley Donen festival with his classic 1957 musical, Funny Face, starring Audrey Hepburn, Fred Astaire, and Kay Thompson. The pleasures of this screening were many: for starters, the print was an eye-popping, digitally restored archival print direct from Paramount. Thompson's legendary "Think Pink!" production number has never looked better, or pinker. Second, Mr. Donen was in the audience -- we sat right behind him, Mike Nichols, and Elaine May. Third, viewing this movie, so beloved from our childhood, on the literally big, wide screen was eye-opening and thought-provoking in unexpected ways.


Our most striking observation was that the story is practically nonexistent, even for a frothy musical; the writing just isn't particularly good or compelling. Audrey Hepburn's Jo Stockton character is so sketchily drawn, it's a testament to Hepburn's personal magnetism and sheer loveliness that she somehow maintains the audience's affection: as the dowdy bookstore clerk, Jo is borderline irritating, rattling on about the Jean Paul Sartre-esque philosophy she follows, denouncing the fashion world as shallow and without meaning. Then, Jo slips into her first Givenchy gown, and is immediately converted to commercialism. Then she denounces it again, only to finally dance off into the sunset with Astaire -- and a Givenchy gown. Say wha -- ? Mr. Donen, when interviewed by Mike Nichols after the screening, commented himself that he felt "uncomfortable" with any scene not involving a musical number, as he didn't feel they were written well, either. Our personal fond memories of the film were basically bullet points: "Think Pink"! The Richard Avedon-inspired montages! The Givenchy fashions! The Gershwin songs! Dovima! We'd forgotten the flaws -- or maybe just never noticed them as much when watching it on television.


On a more positive note, the film was a wonderful showcase for Kay Thompson, and we left wondering why the hell she didn't become the biggest star in the universe after Funny Face. Of course, we always adored her "Think Pink!" number; but beyond that, our memories of her, and the film as a whole, were blurred. Thompson really is a major part of the film, and whenever she's on screen, she blows everyone, Astaire and Hepburn included, completely away. She's the best thing about the group number, "Bonjour, Paris!"; completely overshadows Audrey on "How to Be Lovely"; and is positively incendiary with Astaire on "Clap Yo' Hands" -- which is really more of a showcase for her, and Astaire wisely and gentlemanly lets her steal the stage.


Any disappointments we had in revisiting Funny Face on the big screen were outweighed, though, by the sheer delight in seeing it so gorgeously presented; by the excitement of almost "discovering" Kay Thompson for the first time; by those gorgeous Givenchy gowns; and by the final, still-heartrending scene of Fred and Audrey being reunited at the world's loveliest church to the strains of "S'wonderful." And, of course, being able to sit behind Stanley Donen. It really doesn't get any better than that.

Memo to Emma Thompson

FROM: Audrey Hepburn

RE: Your comments in The Daily Mail
MESSAGE:

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?

Le plus vieux métier du monde -

the world's oldest profession sounds so much better in French, n'est-ce pas?