Birthday Girl: The Pre-Teased Superstar

Well, it's deepest gray and pouring rain here in Our Nation's Capital, and I have to admit that my seasonal funk continues. If anything, though, were to drive away the clouds, I think it would be spending some time, as I've done this afternoon, in the very personable company of today's Birthday Girl.

Goodnight, Lady

Ever since the sad news yesterday - that the lovely and gracious Miss Dina Merrill has sailed for Fabulon - I have been looking at and thinking about this picture.

Birthday Girl: The Big Nine-Oh

Herself, as seen by Mr. David Bailey

There is, I think, very little that can be written about the woman that is in any way new or particularly insightful. 

Trip Report: Old Familiar Faces

We're home. The dogs, relieved and more than a little vengeful, have been fetched from their pricey hostelry, I've been back to the office, and today I'm taking advantage of a post-flight sore throat to stay home and try to get rested and organized.*

Baubles, Bangles...

...and Swede.

For no good reason, other than that it's February-cold, midwinter-damp, and just generally a tad dreary, this seems like the kind of week that might require a Garbo moment. And so let's have one.

Portrait of a Lady

No, this one I didn't see at the National Portrait Gallery.  But, if the price is right, it could be yours - it's up for auction on e-Bay.

Let it Go

With the latest sad news from Los Angeles, it's clear that St. Zsa Zsa is a sort of modern-day Job.  One can only hope she doesn't know.

What's My Wednesdays? #12: Fair Lady

This delightful (if, as captured in the screen cap above, rather intent-looking) creature brightened up a dreary February Sunday evening for television watchers nationwide - 54 years ago.  Today, Dame Julie Andrews turns a still-sprightly 79.

The Last Hon

When thinking about a person who has had a really quite marvelous life that spans ten decades, and when one knows the person only at a great remove, it's probably not quite right to mourn, exactly, when at last they go on before.  Still, the death of Deborah, Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, does seem a particularly melancholy thing.

Beauty's Where You Find It

I hope you'll pardon, Gentle Readers, the quality of this image, imperfect as it is, given the sheer treasurability of what it portrays.  The year is 1968, and Lady Bird is in Palm Beach as the guest of Mrs. Marjorie Merriweather Post, then wintering at her modest little cottage, Mar-a-Lago.  Why she has chosen to accessorize her swoop-ti-doo-sleeved gown and pearls with what appears to be a Play Wig is an enigma lost in the mists of social history.

Shameless Saturday Camp Explosion: Vivat Regina!

In our last look some Unlikely Thrushes of the silver screen, you may remember, we peeked in on Miss Constance Bennett and her not uncreditable go at a little song and dance.  This week, we veer sharply in another direction to catch a crucial moment in the long and seemingly haphazard career of a star both unlikely and beloved:  Miss Marie Dressler, who is happy to tell us what's what in this antic moment from The Hollywood Revue of 1929.

The Shutterbug and the Underworld Empress

The entirely New York phenomenon that was Weegee was born on this day in 1899.  Just to be clear, this is not he.

What's My Wednesday? #4: Her Dulcet Tones

Color me organized this week - I'm actually and at last running Our New Wednesday Feature on a Wednesday.  And it's a little love, my little loves...

Oscars, Schmoscars

Unless and until we see something as fabulously demented as this, I'm not going to get too excited about all this Oscars red-carpet brouhaha.

Why Don't You...

...fight off the winter blues by going all Gorey all of a sudden?

Portrait d'une Demi-Star

There's not nearly enough shouting about Mary Astor.

There Comes a Time...

When all you really want...

Three Notes on an Ill-Spent Life

The Dook and his Duchess arrive in Manhattan, October 22, 1941.  If there was a war on, you wouldn't know it...

RIP: The Girl Who Walked Away

Another great one gone: Universal's savior, the little girl with the prima donna voice, Deanna Durbin.  As this shot proves, she had the moxie to make it as a grown-up star, but instead left for France and more than six decades of what sounds like a perfectly happy and rewarding private life.  Her resolute silence has meant that she's a comparative unknown, but one had only to see the expression on Mother Muscato's face when her name came up to know what a Very Big Star she had been (she was on a very short list of Mother's Immortals, a curiously mixed ensemble that in addition to Deanna included Mary Martin, Roberta Peters, Gordon MacRae, crooner Al Martino, and, in later years, Sade, whom she referred to exclusively phonetically, as "Sayd").

Meanwhile, in a shadowy lair high above Grosvenor Square, the fine-veined hand of Luise Rainer crosses off another name...

Party Girl

On a fine Manhattan evening just 54 years ago, Zsa Zsa Gabor went to a very swish soirée hosted by Prince Aly Khan.  That's Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. there, sitting on her right.  Dear Mr. Eisenstadt appears to have caught her in a pensive moment.  Well, she was a bit at loose ends (in between two of her lesser husbands, a Mr. Hutner, who'd lasted four years, and a Mr. Cosden, who only eked out one) and so was her host.  Perhaps she was wondering whether it might be worth trying to become the third Princess Aly.  Such an alliance would, if nothing else, have been a great deal better than the sordid semi-royalty with which she eventually did became embroiled.

The '50s really were the sisters' glory years, and in her opulent serenity, Zsa Zsa has no idea just how unkind, to her and to the very idea of Gaborismo, the following decades would prove to be.  Just as well; let her enjoy her moment.  I'm guessing those are emeralds.

And what are you up to?