I... Like... Lucy?

America's best-loved redhead would have been 105 today.

Shameless Saturday Camp Explosion: Mrs. Hart Asks a Question

Since we missed her birthday last Monday, I thought it might be nice to spend this week's SSCE in the always good company of dear Mrs. Moss Hart, née dear Miss Kitty Carlisle (well, actually née dear Miss Catherine Conn, but that's another story altogether).  We meet here here during her too-short stint in Hollywood, as one of the leads of 1934's Murder at the Vanities.

She's in an interrogative mood.  "Why am I puzzled?" she trills repeatedly, and one could argue that what should have been bewildering her isn't the not-all-that-mysterious origin and destination of show girls (Podunk and oblivion, mostly, respectively) as what's going with those sleeve/train/pompom things that have been attached to her Harlowische white bias-cut satin gown.  At one point it looks she's going to start using them as poi balls in a kind of tribute avant la lettre to Miss Dolores DeLago; pity she didn't, as it really could have classed things up... 

While the number does give a rather good idea of what a staged number at Broadway Vanities might have been like (complete with one of the oddest pieces of choreography I've ever seen at 3:13, right after, heaven help us, the lasso demonstration), I'm afraid the whole thing just kind of peters out, as if at some point all involved decided it was just easier to get on with telling the film's (too complicated, on the whole) story.  As the showgirl turntables go by, see who you can spy as one of the glorified stenographers, snapping gum as if she were born to it (I think she was).

Still, it's all great fun while it lasts.  And doesn't she have terrific diction?

It's a Mod Mod Mod Mod World

If'it's been a while since you've seen the video that explains - to the extent that anything can - this picture, well then it's high time you had another look.  The song got stuck in my head when we were in the UK earlier this summer, for obvious reasons - although I want to dispel any rumor that catty people (looking at you, Peenee) may have started about me gallivanting about anywhere "with a miniskirt on," as the deathless lyric goes.

And once you've recovered, we can consider whether there is still any comic fodder to be made of old people acting younger.  I've been away from American TV too long - is that still a thing?  If so, who are these older people, and what do they dress up as - Snooki?  Katy Perry?

As for Miss Ball, here, I have to admit, however grudgingly, that this still is distinctly less alarming than seeing her in motion.  It's not flattering - one couldn't go that far, not with those boots and that hat - but she can almost carry off the dress.  Almost.

Christmas Past

"Every happy family is alike; but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." No particular reason that those resonant words by Leo Tolstoy, the opener to Anna Karenina, should come to mind. But they do.

And isn't little Lucie a lump?

The Many Friends of Lena Horne

Everybody loves Lena! And why not?

She's stunning, but not so much that she pulls focus entirely from - I'm guessing on the timeline here - Mrs. Warner;

She's equally at home tossing one back with Tony...

...or kindly leading a guest who may already have had enough to the nearest exit.

She's happy leaning on a guest (bonus points for anyone who can explain why Shirley showed up in a T-shirt, velour housedress, blazer, and pearls - maybe it's one of those reincarnation things?)...

...or herself providing a suprisingly strong knee on which to perch.

God knows she's more patient than I, not batting an eye at being nearly swept aside by Lucy's furs -

Or having her audience distracted when a pal stops by in an outfit only marginally more comprehensible than Shirley's.

And, like all genuine divas, she bursts into living color when at least she meets a true peer. Title this one "when goddesses embrace."

I like knowing that Lena is still with us, albeit quietly, her days of entwined cocktails and evicting junkies, perhaps to her relief, behind her. She's the real deal.

Muffing It

A recent conversation over on Fabulon celebrated the ever-perfectly-accessorized Miss Ida Lupino, and in particular - thanks to the trenchant eye of MJ - her penchant for keeping her hands warm...

Which got me thinking about muffs. So practical in one sense, so ridiculous in almost every other...

I mean, surely in that gown, keeping her hands warm is the least of Miss Monroe's problems...

While Persian lamb just doesn't seem warm enough, however much it reinforces the visual message that Judy is perfectly fine, whatever else the readers of Photoplay might have been hearing.

As was so often the case in her pre-Desi career, Lucy seems less to be wearing than being worn by this particular costume...

While William Powell seems to be reacting with an inappropriate alarm when presented with Miss Binnie Barnes's impressive silver fox muff - although it must be admitted that she is wielding it superbly.

They go beyond Hollywood of course - on this important day, Jackie is actually using hers (something of novelty after all the foregoing) to keep her hands warm...

...while here it would seem that it is only the combination of muff, collar, and hat that's keeping the late Princess of Wales from spontaneously combusting on the spot.

Muffs! So versatile, so lovely, and so much of eras past! I trust that Miss MJ will now lead us a characteristically high-toned discussion of their sizes, depths, virtues, and uses.

The March of Time

The passing years are a challenge for even the greatest stars. One moment you're Queen of the Lot, at the top of your game, and the next you've started that long, slow slide that takes you through memoirs, TV movies, and appearances at increasingly obscure film festivals to oblivion.

It can start without warning. For example, I believe that Dame Elizabeth, whatever else happened thereafter, experienced the Movie Star equivalent of Jumping the Shark the moment she donned that headdress.

For many, the next step is an ill-advised return to the stage, all too often playing against type. Is there anything in the world less hard-boiled than Claudette Colbert, drooping cig or no?

Suddenly, you find yourself wearing unfortunate jewelry and biting nervously at the centerpiece...

Some few, in the end, achieve a rare grace; Miss Lillian, luckier than most, seems never to have made a wrong step (except perhaps that hat) during the last three decades of her long, long life, holding her own even against Miss Davis and coming out smiling.

But most are not so lucky, as evidenced by frail, sad Lucy, apparently attempting a slo-mo slap at the hapless (and for the moment, unsuspecting) Dorothy Lamour impersonator to her left.

Beyond that, draw the veil; you don't want to venture into the final stages, the time of This 'n' That, the Motion Picture Country Home ("Irving! Where is Irving? We'll be late for my premiere!"), and moments like the ghost of Mary Pickford appearing live, more or less, from Pickfair on the 1976 Oscars.

It's no surprise that Ruth Elizabeth said it best: old age is no place for sissies. Ironic, though - given that it's mostly sissies that are paying attention...

With a Miniskirt On

Oh, my. I... found... this. And I'm not sure if... or when... all will be well again. It's just... Oh, good lord. Watch it.

Was her delivery always so reminiscent of Edith Massey? Was this the moment that The Music Died? What were they thinking? So many questions, so few remaining brain cells...

Birthday Boy: Mr. MOOOOONey!

Yes, 103 years ago in New York City was born the wonderful slow-burn expert and beloved TV staple Gale Gordon.

The son of stage troupers, he took up the family business and, while to us he was born to play second fiddle to Miss Brooks, Lucy Carmichael, and Jay North, he started long before...

...and had a certain something. He was a leading light of radio comedy, on Fibber McGee and elsewhere,

and even assayed the classics. In the ruff, he has vincentpriceian charm, I think.

But once assigned the curmudgeonly second-banana slot, he stuck with it and did great things. He's seen here in avuncular mode with the whole clan Arnaz, and he clearly was considered part of the family. He even accompanied Ball into her ill-fated final foray, Lifelike Lucy.

The career of Gale Gordon raises an interesting question: what is the male for "dowager"?

Author! Author!

This photograph makes me really quite unreasonably happy. I can't believe I haven't read the book.

Although I think I have at least one of those jackets. And Lucy's bijouterie. And probably the lashes.