Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Claudette Colbert

For no reason at all, except that she is superb, and rarely more so than here.

Colbert is one of those '30s ladies (along with Myrna Loy, among others) whose career took an unexpected turn.  We remember her as the durable Great Lady, full of a kind of high-mid-Atlantic sophistication, perhaps just a tad imperious with her insistence on only being photographed from the left, but with any suspicious foreignness (on account of her French birth) leavened by her good humor and common sense.  We can forget that, in addition to the fine comic timing that helped make It Happened One Night immortal, early on she was no slouch at the exotic, enlivening a series of pictures like The Sign of the Cross, Cleopatra (above), and Under Two Flags (in which she plays the deliciously vixenous Cigarette) with her very credible vamping.

After 1938 (and a last fling as Zaza) she more or less left that kind of thing behind, but perhaps it the lingering influence of her Poppea (not to mention Cigarette) that make her '40s matrons so intriguing.  It's a long, long way from the court of the last Pharaoh to The Egg and I, but Colbert makes it work.  She's also one of the comparatively few film greats who saw no reason (and had no financial need) to trash her own legacy in Gothics or grand guignols once her day as a leading lady was done.  She had a fine career on stage as well, and if she was the only reason more than a couple of her theatre outings lasted more than a night, audiences were always happy to see her and generally didn't mind that her vehicles were feather-light.  Remembering her as the queen of light drawing-room drama, outfitted in good tweeds and country-club evening gowns, isn't it remarkable how at home she looks in her lamé and albino peacock fan?  There's a lesson there for all of us, if we care to learn, about flexibility, durability, and, not least, that Little Something Extra, star quality...

Birthday Boy: Go West!

Let's pause for a moment to celebrate the birth of Randy Jones, eternal Village Person; he's 57 today, still wearing the cowboy hat and going strong.

Joining him are a raft of the great and good: single-profiled superstar Claudette Colbert, terrifying soapstress Eileen Fulton, Velvet Fog Mel Tormé, Designing Woman Jean Smart, etiquetteuse Judith Martin, and Mr. Patricia Neal Roald Dahl among them. There's clearly a major diva-streak running through the day - could they all have been conceived on New Year's Eve?

On Independence Day - Indulge!

On this day for rest, reflection, and celebration of our heritage, I think we should all follow the advice of Margie Majorette and her pal, Ghostly Miss Liberty, and make full use of the freedoms afforded us by our forefathers...

Let's have a drink! Mom's flying so high that all she's prepared is salad, shrimp cocktail, and jello - who cares? Give those guests enough Schlitz and no-one will mind at all!

And later, we can join Claudette, Paulette, and Veronica in a refreshing, patriotic Chesterfield.

And to round out the day - why not get married? This would be just the frock to make July Fourth your day of days. The only way I could improve this toilette would be with a big screaming eagle brooch on the left hip, to pull the whole look together.

However you choose to celebrate - have fun! But not quite as much as Mom up there...

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...

Searchin'

Over in his part of the world, dear, sweet, demure Shirley will occasionally consult the oracles and review just how it comes to be that people drop on by - that is, what Google queries lead hapless gawkers into his domain.

There have been some classics ("amywinehouse is a strange cow" being about the cleanest one, not to mention one I can wholeheartedly endorse), but few will ever beat the classic simplicity - not to mention the unspoken, heartbreaking yearning on the part of one who would search for - "fat man ballet".

In any case, he has inspired me to rummage around, now that the Café's been up and running for a couple of months, to discover whence come my own Gentlemen Callers.

It's not pretty.

In fact, I would never have dreamed that there were so many people interested in seeing Marisa Berenson nude, which turns out to be the principal leitmotif of strangers popping by.

Other unexpected angles: "princess haya's diet plan" (girl does look good, but all I did was snark about her husband at Ascot), not to mention "history of the cairo rotary club" (sorry, just mentioned in passing that they meet at the divine Gezira Palace while far more characteristically chatting about a French Empress).

But then there's the one that opens up a whole potential world of Hollywood fetishism:

"Miss Colbert" paddle

I'm just not going there. What did poor Claudette ever do to you?

But I will gleefully lead future searchers utterly astray:

Here she is, boys! Here she is, world! Miss Marisa Berenson! Nude, nude, NUDE!

Yes! It's Schiaparelli's grand-daughter, Cabaret's Marisa Berenson!

Oh, yeah, I know it's a scam. But in that headdress, who cares if she's draped in a little chiffon?

Image du Jour

Regal!

Claudette Colbert as Cleopatra - just because.