Bette Davis
I lately had the pleasure of watching 'All About Eve' uninterrupted
for the first time and was once again reminded of just what a marvellous actress
Bette Davis was. Two qualities leap off the screen: intelligence and elegance.
Head held high, eyes flashing “full of fire and music”, Margo Channing
is Bette at her most compelling, most articulate, cigarette case-snapping
best. Her poise, diction and deft movements always make for a riveting
performance, as ever underpinned by immaculately tailored clothes (three
cheers for Orry-Kelly).
Back in the olden days when terrestrial channels showed “proper” B&W films
in the afternoons, nothing could match the delight of coming home from
school on a chilly Autumn day to discover 'Dark Victory' or 'In This Our
Life' was just starting on Beeb 2. Then Ivy Wood and I would sink down
with a tray of tea and a plate of buttered malt loaf. Heaven. “Don't let's
ask for the moon...”
www.tcmonline.co.uk/bettedavis
Rita Hayworth
My favourite of all the '40s Hollywood stars: gorgeous, glamorous, great
gams… and boy, could she dance! Little wonder Orson Welles fell madly
in love with her. I remember being called in to watch 'Cover Girl', specifically
for the finale number where well-known models of the day come to life
by stepping out of their respective magazine covers. Fabulous frocks
throughout, natch - plus the not inconsiderable talents of Gene Kelly,
Phil Silvers and a characteristically hard-boiled, wisecracking Eve
Arden who sports one razor-sharp ensemble after another (just check
out the hats, gals).
But ultimately, it has to be the noirish 'Gilda', (“if I'd been
a ranch, they would've named me the Bar Nothing”). Made in 1946
it features exquisite wardrobe (by Jean Louis) and breathtaking chemistry
between Rita and co-star Glenn Ford.
The 'Amado
Mio' Montevideo nightclub sequence should be mandatory viewing, as should Gilda's 'Put The Blame On Mame' striptease. Thank goodness for YouTube!
Ivy Wood once told me that when Rita Hayworth married Aly Khan, he filled
the pool of the Château de l'Horizon where the wedding reception was
held with Chanel No.5. Apparently the intoxicating scent was carried
on the breeze around the hills above the Cote d'Azur for days on end.
I'm not sure if it's true (Ivy Wood was always prone to romantic embellishment)
but I've since learned that two enormous interlocking initials - an
“A” and an “M” (for Margarita) - made from white carnations floated
in the pool, creating an opulent and presumably fragrant centrepiece.
Esther Williams
When I first learnt to swim I wanted to be Esther Williams. Not for
me the indoor municipal pool with its headache-inducing acoustics, throat-rasping
fumes, and dread prospect of verrucas or worse: the horror of inadvertently
treading on a discarded plaster. No. I wanted to swim in a fresh water
lagoon, with a hibiscus flower tucked behind my ear and a school of
friendly seahorses at my side. I wanted to bask beneath blossom-laden
vines in a Tiki paradise, to the squawks of tropical birds above and
curl up in a conch shell for a snooze. I still do. The closest I've
come to recreating this is slapping Martin Denny on the hi-fi and donning
my classic two-piece swimsuit (www.esther-williams.com)
to take the waters at Tooting Bec Lido.
I recently saw Diane Sawyer interview the remarkable Esther Williams, now in her eighties and surely no better advertisement for the benefits of a life spent swimming. In recounting her miraculous recovery from a stroke Esther
was reminded of something her mother had instilled in her: “Work as
if there's no prayer, pray as if there's no work.” Salutary stuff.
Marguerite Patten
I adore Marguerite Patten for her joie de vivre and encouraging approach
to cooking. Far removed from the attention-seeking antics of today's
so-called celebrity chefs, Marguerite was an inspiration to women during
WW2, helping them turn meagre rations into enticing meals with her innovative
and practical recipes. In that pre-Magimax world, she was on the housewife's
side, not grandstanding from on high. English Monkey, scones-without-fat
- where would we have been without her? Reaching for the Bile Beans,
I suspect.
Occasionally Ivy Wood would tease us with a story of a fantastical chocolate
pudding she used to make for her father during the war. Apparently it
contained nothing - well, nothing one would expect to find in a chocolate
pudding - and was the best pudding ever, no less! When we'd ask her
to conjure up this culinary slight of hand (usually on a Sunday afternoon
when we 'd discover the sweetie drawer had been looted and the nearby
garage with its dubious Mars bars was closed - yes, once upon a time
everything used to close on Sundays), she would demur, feign a failing
memory (as if) and make vague references to carob and prunes. Defeated
but determined to have our fix, we'd repair to the kitchen to make chocolate
cornflake nests - a lamentable substitute to be sure, and one that wrought
treacly chaos in its wake.
Doris Day
In the long, dark teatime of the soul, Doris never fails
to brighten the day with her fresh-faced freckliness and glorious smile.
And with her button-up-the-back jackets, flowerpot hats and trusty cohorts
like Thelma Ritter and Ann B. Davis at her side, who could rain on her
parade? In roles that echoed her own life as working mother, Doris was
often cast as the archetypal modern career woman ('Lover Come Back'
is by far the best example of this) who manages to succeed in a man's
world by never compromising her feminine values (Bette Davis' Margo
Channing alludes to the importance of this in 'All About Eve'). Given
her dedication to animal welfare (www.ddaf.org),
I'm certain Doris would make a great study for the Conscious Feminine
movement (www.consciousfeminine.org).
Far from being anachronistic, Doris Day remains a source of constant
inspiration for any gal who's ever had the misfortune to experience
her own “Jerry Webster” near miss.
With thanks to Dr. Linus Tyler for harnessing that formula!
More inspiration coming soon...
