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Joan Crawford

Of Stamps and Stars

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The US Post Office is an embarrassment of riches these days. Edgar Allen Poe (finally, a genre writer gets respect!) and the next in the classic actor series (subtitled “Turner Classic Movies–the Reason I Subscribe to Cable”). I rushed right out and bought my Bette Davis stamp. The one sheet is young Bette from Jezebel, the stamp itself the more mature Bette as Margo Channing (arguably her greatest role).

Thinking about Bette, of course, made me think about Joan Crawford. The two were serious rivals, on and off the screen. Both superb actresses–though, in my opinion, Joan was the more naturalistic of the two, more suited to film, and far less mannered. I like both. You can, you know … this isn’t a “John or Paul” kind of thing.

Anyway, in the few minutes I carve out every week for thinking about absolutely nothing important (crucial for a writer–it’s like clearing the cache on your browser), it occurred to me that Joan will probably never get a stamp. And that’s tragic. If Bette gets one, Joan should get one, Mommie Dearest be damned. The world needs to get over Faye Dunaway’s wire hangers.

Case in point … a bizarre film called Johnny Guitar (1954). Two fifths western, one fifth Douglas Sirk melodrama, and two fifths noir, it’s what’s known as a camp classic, but deserves to be taken seriously. Hey, anything directed by Nicholas Ray, the man who gave us one of the greatest noirs of all time–In a Lonely Place–and helped define the genre with They Live by Night–and was married to the indisputable Queen of Noir, Gloria Grahame–well, let’s just say he’s the Black Amex of noir cred.

Gender is the main theme of Johnny Guitar, though apparently Ray was also trying to create a metaphor for the lynch mob mentality of the Witch Hunt (best evoked in the noir film The Sound of Fury, aka Try and Get Me). The final shoot-out–and really, all the enmity in the movie–is between two women, the saloon-owning bad girl with the heart of gold, Vienna, who only wants to hold on to her palace long enough for the railroad to come through and make her rich (so she can forget all the men she had to bed in order to pay for the building) — and Emma Small, played with demonic glee by Mercedes McCambridge (best known for voicing Satan in The Exorcist).

Joan wears pants and guns and early on is described by one of her male hirelings (and this was before The Catwoman and her male hirelings on Batman) as making him feel like she was more of a man than he was, or words to that effect. But when former gunslinger/lover and now musician, Johnny Guitar (Sterling Hayden) shows up, flames rekindle, and Joan starts wearing dresses … at least until she has to face down Mercedes, who is out to string her up.

There are some juicy lines in this amazing mish-mash … when Emma leads a gang of men (including the usually virile Ward Bond), trying to get them to attack Vienna, Joan faces them down on a stairway … just her and a revolver.
Emma (shrill): “You’re nothing but a railroad tramp! … You can’t kill us all.”
Vienna (Crawford raises an eyebrow, smirks as her lips turn downward): “Two will do.”

Mercedes is waaay over the top here, and leaves no doubt as to the sexual basis of her animosity. Whenever she gets a chance to do Joan wrong, she gets as orgasmic as it was possible to be in 1954. The script suggests that it is jealousy over a rather lacklustre ne’er do well, named the Dancing Kid (yeah, no one had real names in the Wild West), who’s got the hots for Vienna and not the shrimpy Emma Small.

But really … everything about her performance and the film suggests that it is Vienna she loves/hates, not the Dancing Kid. And interestingly, Mercedes went on to co-star in Giant, where she played Luz, a decidedly epicene character (Adarene Clinch: Why Luz, everybody in this county knows you’d rather herd cattle than make love. Luz: Well, there’s one thing you got to say for cattle… boy, you put your brand on one of them, you’re gonna know where it’s at!), and later gave a memorable turn as another androgynous threat to womenkind in Touch of Evil, where she menaces Janet Leigh.

I’m sure there have been dissertations written about Johnny Guitar, but above all, it’s entertainment … with John Carradine and Ernest Borgnine in memorable roles, what’s not to like? And though apparently Joan was going through rough times when she made this movie–and literally fought with Mercedes behind the scenes–her performance in this, one of the strangest films of a strange decade, is but one example of why she should get her own stamp.

Hey USPS … you listening?

I’m getting ready for the Los Angeles Times Festival of the Book at the end of the month … but will be back next week with more noir … in between deadlines. 🙂

No Sudden Fear of Joan

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My top ten noir countdown list changes with my mood, but last time I made it, Sudden Fear (1952) held the #9 spot like Joan Crawford clutching at Norma Shearer’s off-screen husband in The Women (1939) … which is not a noir, exactly, but kind of.

To me, Joan Crawford is one of the most underrated actresses from the classic era. This wasn’t the case until Christina’s nasty little book (and while I know Joan (aka Billie Cassin, aka Lucille LaSeur) was an abusive parent, that still doesn’t excuse Christina from being an abusive–and profiteering–child). Unfortunately, people now relegate her to the caricature bin, thanks to Mommie Dearest and Faye Dunaway and wire-hangers and 80s excess.

This is patently unfair to Crawford’s legacy as an actress. One of the most naturally gifted performers in Hollywood, she transcended the silent era, transitioning from a minor flapper in “youth” films of the twenties to plucky working girls in early talkies like the MGM classic Grand Hotel (1932) –where she not only held her own against stagy actors like two out of the three Barrymores (John and Lionel, for the record) — but stole the spotlight.

Crawford, like the saucy Jean Harlow and the pert Ginger Rogers, epitomized the working class woman. Unlike Jean and Ginger, though, she often tapped into a dark side, portraying victims and sometimes villains (as in The Women … in which, I would argue, she again dominated. By the end of the movie, she makes the gold-digging Crystal seem sympathetic, particularly with her delivery of the exit line: “There’s a word for you ladies, but they don’t use it in polite society … outside of a kennel.”)

By the ’40s, Crawford had been written off by the studio with “more stars than there were in heaven” and found her true calling at the studio more akin to the real Lucille LaSeur–down and dirty Warner Brothers. Joan’s reemergence as a genuine noir icon was prefigured by fare such as 1941’s A Woman’s Face, in which she plays a criminal and victim of disfigurement, transformed externally–but perhaps not internally–by plastic surgery. If you don’t think Crawford was a great actress, seek out this film and see what she can do with just her voice and posture.

Joan was able to laugh in Louis B. Mayer’s face when she won the Oscar for Warner’s adaptation of Cain’s Mildred Pierce in 1945. For the rest of the ’40s and ’50s she was able to rely on a steady stream of noir, some great, some not so great, but all worth seeing because of Crawford’s abilities.

My favorite among her spate of noir films is Sudden Fear. Co-starring Jack Palance and the delectable and haunting Gloria Grahame–as well as Joan’s co-star from Mildred Pierce, Bruce Bennett, and a young Mike Conners (billed as “Touch” Conners)–the movie is suspenseful and extraordinary.

Crawford plays another working woman, this time a well-to-do playwright, Myra Hudson. Myra lives in San Francisco, but while auditioning actors for a production in New York, she rejects Lester Blaine (Palance) because, well, he looks like Palance.

On her way back home on the train, Myra encounters Blaine again, and his virile personality and dominating, take-charge attitude soon convince her that she’d made a mistake … professionally and personally. Myra marries the younger man, and soon discovers that Lester is not all that he seems.

Without giving anything away, check out the scene where Joan is listening to a record. Watch her performance, note the transitions, the hesitancy, the realization her character comes to. That’s acting.

Sudden Fear is particularly noteworthy for the ending, which for 1952, is remarkably feminist. I almost expected to see Jill Clayburgh pop out of a San Francisco alleyway.

Crawford is credited as an uncredited executive producer for this film, which was released by RKO. It’s available on DVD, so add it to your Netflix queue.

Joan Crawford was much more than the sum of Mommie Dearest and the schlock horror films she cranked out in the late ’60s … she was a consummate film actress, and a complete professional, giving every film–no matter how dreadful–her very best. Some were able to measure up to her … and #9 on my top ten list, Sudden Fear, is one of them.

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No history this week (except film history) … but if you’ve got any questions or interest in ancient historical tidbits and trivia, leave a comment or question and I’ll fit it in next week. My default topic is usually noir … the stuff that dreams are made of. 🙂