The Daily Photoplay #15

March 1935, p. 19

Oh, Jeanette. What a costume!

The Daily Photoplay #14

January 1938, p. 73

Ah, Lux Soap, how I love your incredibly awkward attempts at publicity. Bette's so absorbed by her own daintiness that she looks a little psycho there, but I'm sure Lux will make it all better somehow. Baby Jane is back in town.

The Daily Photoplay #13

January 1935, p. 46

If you know anything about Norma Shearer, absolutely nothing about this page will surprise you. At all. But still, Norma, please stop demonstrating that you have an abnormally large head.

Mary, Edith, Sybil

Last Sunday, Downton Abbey's season two finished in the US as well and so we're all - sadly - facing at least a year without our favorite Upstairses and Downstairses. Even though Mad Men is returning next month, I for one will certainly miss them - as many reviews have pointed out throughout the second season, Downton is basically a soap series with pretty costumes, but it's a soap series I enjoy, even with all its amnesia cases, dead fiancees, sudden fits of paralysis and wartime telepathy. As I stated in an earlier post, it gets plenty of things wrong, but I also think it gets a lot of things just right.

The Crawley sisters are a good example of that. I think these three women, who are fundamentally different in many ways, illustrate three fundamentally different takes on the modernity that is pretty much thrust upon them during the second decade of the new century. I think the way the modern viewer views these three is influenced by those differences, although I personally have plenty of sympathy for each of them.

Mary, as the eldest, is the 19th century girl of the three; although she may occasionally struggle against the societal mores that regulate her life, she is essentially a supporter of the system she grew up in. To say that she wants to be her mother would be wrong, because her mother herself, as an American heiress, is a surprisingly "modern" presence within the British aristocracy. Mary wants to be her grandmother; she wants to be presented at court, she wants to be received in society, and though she values love and affection, she wants to marry someone who is not just her husband, but also preferably an aristocrat with an inheritance to look forward to. She's smart and she has a strong character, but escaping her world isn't an ambition of hers; when Mr Pamuk actually responds to her flirtations, she acts surprisingly like a frightened child. She doesn't want to be a scandal. She just wants to be who she was born to be. And that would be perfectly fine had she been born fifty years earlier, but this is the 1910s and who she was born to be might not be a person who will fit into this postwar world.

Although her and Edith have this prolonged sisterly rivalry going on, it is Sybil rather than Edith who is Mary's polar opposite. We love Mary because she's beautiful and Edwardian and dignified and a vision from an age gone by; we love Sybil because she is the classic "wayward girl with a heart of gold" character. She is the closest to a modern female as we're getting on this show, and as such, we recognize her as one of us and want her to do well. Sybil's transgression isn't a one-night-stand with a Turkish diplomat (because, had Pamuk lived, I firmly believe that's all his night with Mary would have ended up being), but a real, honest relationship with one of the servants - a relationship she takes her sweet time contemplating, because she knows what she's risking and she gradually begins to realize that what she's risking isn't anything she wanted in the first place, anyway. Sybil, with her unusually great sense of social justice, with her wild ideas of women's rights, is perhaps something of an anachronism, but also a pretty interesting depiction of the kind of woman World War One would produce. The War gave her the opportunity to be truly useful without any social repercussions, and afterward, she finds herself unwilling to go back to the mold she formerly fit into. Mary, of course, RUNS, does not walk, back to that mold as soon as she can.

Edith is an interesting character because she's such an in-betweener in more ways than one. The middle child and perhaps the least conventionally attractive of the three, she spent the entire first season in a crazy feud with Mary. I think that has led a lot of readers to view her as a part of that 19th century world alongside her older sister, with Sybil as the lone "modern" soul jumping headfirst into the new century, but I think that's a little overly simplistic, as the second season has shown. We'll never see Edith wearing crazy harem pants, and - in spite of her brief tryst with that farmer - we'll also, most likely, never catch her marrying someone as dramatically below her on the social ladder as Branson is to Sybil. But she also isn't Mary, the perfect heiress to whom the Great War is an unpleasant disruption of home life. Edith really comes into herself during the wartime years, and afterward, as the last officers leave, her and Sybil bond on-screen for the first time when it's obvious that neither of them wants to return to the status quo of 1914.

Maybe that's why I like Edith best. It is, I believe, pretty clear by this point which way Mary and Sybil's lives are headed, but I think Edith could still go either way, and that's definitely something to remember as we await season three.

The Daily Photoplay #12

April 1938, p. 17

Yeah, where is she going now, huh? I'd love this one for the drawing alone, but the little blurb is amazing. No feud was ever classier than the Garbo/Dietrich one. Which, rather hilariously, began with a lesbian affair in the early 1920s. Well of course it did.

The Daily Photoplay #11

January 1935, p. 12

This may be my favorite so far. This woman saw the Hays Production Code, thought for approximately two seconds, and then went batshit insane. SEXCOMMUNICATE EVERYBODY. Wouldn't you just love to know the story behind this letter? I know I would.

The Daily Photoplay #10

August 1930, p. 118

I love these vintage make-up ads. Myrna was such a glamour girl in the 1930s.

The Daily Photoplay #9

July 1930, p. 54

Hindsight is a beautiful thing. Yes, we waited, and yes, we hoped. And "this Barbara girl" became, of course - as The Big Valley would call her thirty years later - MISS BARBARA STANWYCK. Incidentally, Ladies of Leisure is a delightful film that has stood the test of time very well, and I consider Stanwyck one of classic Hollywood's most versatile actresses.

The Daily Photoplay #8

January 1929, p. 15

Now you know what's been missing from your life, readers. Corinne Griffith's nut sticks, that's what! I was a little disappointed there was no awkward picture of Corinne cooking beside this recipe... I do have a picture of Norma Shearer and an oven somewhere that I'll post one of these days. I don't believe Norma Shearer ever operated an oven a day in her life.

But have the coupon, anyway. The address still exists, except it's now apparently a Ralph Lauren. I sort of want to send it in and see what happens.

The Daily Photoplay #7

November 1925, p. 12

Poor Jack Gilbert. Watching "The Artist" really reminded me of him, and of the way he could have and should have been a great leading man in the talkies, as well. I miss him too, Helen D. Reynolds. Let's go on our "trek"!

"Novelty is always welcome, but talking pictures are just a passing fad..."

A few weeks ago, I watched "The Artist" at the Kentucky Theater - it's an old movie theater in the center of town and it really turned out to be the perfect place to watch this particular movie. Long story short: it was wonderful and I want it to win ALL THE OSCARS (the way it already seems to have won ALL THE BAFTAS).

I enjoyed the performance of both lead actors, neither of which I had ever seen before. I thought Jean Dujardin looked eerily like he could've been an actual silent movie star - an impossibly handsome, hilarious French version of Jon Hamm. His antics with the dog were reminiscent of William Powell and "Asta" in "The Quiet Man", and I was impressed with his acting style overall. It really takes a particular type of actor to act in a silent movie, since it's a completely different way of moving and of expressing emotion, and he had it down pat. It'll be weird to see him in a talkie next, unless of course this movie sparks a trend, which it better.

Something about Bérénice Bejo initially bothered me, and I really don't know what it was. She's a good actress and her character was pretty interesting. Honestly, I think it was her face. I think she's a good-looking woman, but she doesn't really look like a silent movie star - she doesn't have the youthful, full face with the seemingly endless expanse of porcelain white skin that was so in vogue at the time. She's much too old to have been a silent movie star as well. We discussed this in my film class last week, and it's true; leading ladies in the silent era were extremely young, as in somewhere between 20 and 25 type young. It's only with the development of the talkies that one could still play a romantic lead and be in one's thirties - I need to write a post on that phenomenon sometime, because it fascinates me.

But that criticism is neither here nor there and really has no bearing on the movie, which was just beautiful. It was a tribute to the motion picture industry and in a way a homage to those silent stars who didn't experience an easy transition to talking pictures. I loved that it could easily have turned into a tragedy à la John Gilbert but ended on a hopeful note instead. George Valentin will be okay, and Hollywood will be the better for it.

And I love, of course, that this is a silent movie - something so many people reject without ever having experienced - and that it's drawing huge crowds all over the world. Maybe, just maybe, Mr Thalberg was right after all - and talking pictures really are "just a passing fad".

The Daily Photoplay #6

April 1930, p. 10

I love letters like this because they're so evocative of the times, and because they contain a lot of raw historical truth. Girls in the countryside may have found their lives boring, but the city ain't all that, either. Norma Shearer wears your clothes, stenographers!

The Daily Photoplay #5

May 1930, p. 88

Oh Joanie. Style icon forever - eyebrows, lipstick, nails. No, seriously - I'm not sure what this is even about.

The Daily Photoplay #4

January 1928, p. 63

I love these little poems. Why don't magazines do that sort of stuff anymore? And of course I like the thought of Mr and Mrs T. on an 'and how!' type honeymoon...

The Daily Photoplay #2

July 1929, p. 6

I'm sure we're all glad to hear that Garbo stopped living like an extremely rich homeless person a mere what, four years after she arrived?

The Daily Photoplay #3

July 1929, p. 10

Miss Mary Walsh voices the concerns of misrepresented youth everywhere. I find this an amusing letter because it's really a testament to intergenerational conflict throughout the decades - we're all a whole lot less interesting than our parents' generations thinks we are.

"She was a hot toddy, I'll agree... but she wasn't carrying our banner."

The Daily Photoplay

January 1930, p. 8

On the day The Artist won ALL THE AWARDS (or at least the BAFTAs), I feel this is only fitting. Some still like 'em silent, Hollywood. Remember that.

On Downton Abbey's aristocrats.

As the second season of Downton Abbey is being broadcast in the US and the hype shows no signs of slowing down, I've been reading and hearing a lot of comments on the authenticity of the class relations portrayed within the series. The main criticism appears to be that the series depicts the aristocrats, particularly the Crawleys, as essentially benevolent, wonderful people - basically as 'too nice'. Now I do think that Lord Grantham, for example - as I read in one particular review - is practically Paddington Bear, also known as the nicest guy ever born, but overall I do find the depiction of class relations in this show interesting and at least moderately well done.

The Crawleys are pleasant people, it is true. I wouldn't turn down a dinner invitation at Downton. However, they are always - apart from Sybil, who is the family's great equalizer - pleasant in a fashion true to their era and their class, and they almost never display an anachronistically democratic mindset. They're not politically correct in a 2010s kind of way, and at least some of them are outright snobs.

A good example of this, and of course the quintessential Downton aristocrat, is the Dowager Countess. Violet Crawley is not always a nice woman, but that nastiness is usually directed toward people she considers to be in her league or slightly below it - her daughter-in-law, for example, or Isobel, or Sir Richard. It is not directed toward the servants as a rule - but that's only the case because it doesn't have to be. Someone like Violet is perfectly capable of displaying kindness and care toward those far below her on the social ladder: she looks after William since she knows he is his father's only child and even listens to Daisy's problems on one occasion. Similarly, the Earl offers Bates a job when no-one else will, Cora is very fond of O'Brien, Mary tells Anna her worries and has a very close relationship with Mr Carson, and so on.

But at the same time, the idea of common soldiers recuperating alongside officers is appalling to Violet, as it is presumably to most of the family; they are capable of kindness toward the working class because they know themselves to be their social superiors, and they treat their servants kindly because these are 'their' people. Their kindness is based in a deeply rooted paternalism, which they translate into a right to get involved in the servants' lives. Yes, it comes across as 'niceness' - but it's rooted in a classism that's very typical of the time.

This also explains why the true enemy of this upper class is not the working class, but the middle class. I think that is accurately and very intelligently pointed out throughout the series - Violet and Mary (two characters I believe to be extremely alike) both trust and rely on their servants, but they frown on characters such as Isobel - who fancies herself a social reformer - or Sir Richard Carlyle - who, though he's a loathsome man in some ways, is also someone who's made his own way in the world in a way none of the Downton Crawleys have. They even frown on Cora on occasion, and even Mary will refer to her own mother as 'an American' to emphasize the way in which Cora's money has been VERY welcome to the family, but Cora herself only kinda-sorta fits in. These are the people who are a danger to the lifestyle of the aristocracy, not their servants who - if anything - are often as conservative, class-conscious and concerned about propriety as the upper class itself is.

That is why Mary couldn't be an attorney's wife in Manchester. Sure, it was Lady Rosamund who voiced the idea first, but I think the doubts were always there. Of the three Crawley sisters, Mary is most resistant to social change, no matter how much she goes around with Sir Richard. It's clearly visible when the Great War strikes. Sybil, the youngest and by far the most progressive, decides to become a nurse, and when the War comes to Downton, Edith, too, finds a place for herself in the war effort. She learns to drive, which was pretty new for an aristocratic woman to do at the time, and when the recovering officers start arriving, she helps look after them, too, if not as a nurse. Mary, as the eldest and the truest to her class, is not without pity, but would make a pretty terrible nurse (even good, sweet Lavinia points out that Mary wouldn't have been able to look after Matthew as well as she would have, and she's right) and doesn't really care enough about the soldiers to devote heaps of her time to them. She has a good heart, but it's just not all that much on her radar; she takes part in the concert, but treats it as something of a nuisance initially.

This identification of Mary with the upper class sets her apart at least to some extent from her younger sisters who are naturally somewhat more interested in this new century and this new post-war world. This is very obvious in the case of Sybil, with her interest in politics and - of course - in the radical Irish chauffeur, but also in the case of Edith, which is a little surprising considering how Edith was the typical middle child all throughout the first series. After the War, when Sybil says she doesn't want to go back to the way things were before, Edith says she doesn't want to, either. That creates the potential for a totally different dynamic between the three sisters - different from the earlier one where Mary and Edith are rivals and Sybil is the indulged baby. In a sense, Sybil and Edith both have the potential to be a part of this new world; Mary, and this is perhaps the most accurate and the most representative of the aristocracy at this time, has more trouble with that idea. She's very much part of a class that won't exist anymore as such a few decades later.

Maybe I should write on Edith next. I love Edith. She's a fascinating character.