senators for the ages

         few would deny that the desire to be re-elected exercises a strong brake on
      independent courage
       - John F. Kennedy, Profiles in Courage


     It’s no revelation to note the dearth of genuine courage in public figures these days, be they elected officials or other high profile individuals. All too often reticence, self-interest (and self- preservation), among other factors, carry the day. It’s all buttressed by a well-connected donor class and compliant mass media, further obfuscated by carefully worded public statements. Apropos then to pay homage to two exceptions, both from the public sphere, who exhibited forthrightness and principle, in a word, courage, sometimes at the expense of their careers and often to the detriment of their party. These are U.S. Senators Robert Taft and Frank Church, both towering figures, alas largely forgotten today by all but hardcore political junkies (though Church may be getting a revival, discussed further below).

     An odd coupling, Church and Taft: despite some similarities in philosophy, the two men were basically cut from different cloths, both politically and personally. They hailed from different regions of the country, and were of different parties, moreover of different generations, though both had a world view shaped by World War II, and later, inevitably, by the Cold War that followed. Church relished in and sought out the political limelight [1], Taft did not, preferring to stay in the background and do what needed to be done. Both alas passed on at the (by today’s standards) youthful ages of sixty-three and fifty-nine respectively.

    Church first entered the senate in 1957, four years after Taft’s death, and there’s no evidence the two men ever met [2]. Further, there’s no hints in the record, either public or private, what Church’s opinion was of Taft. In any case neither was exempt from criticism in their own lifetimes, and there remain naysayers even today. Still, both are highly revered by a wide swath of the political spectrum. Taft entered the pantheon long ago, but Church is more a Johnny-come-lately (incidentally he was considered such for much of his political career, even, especially, by his colleagues in the Senate). But most important, both said what they meant and meant what they said, a quality sorely lacking in public officials today, and both stuck to their guns when convinced their position was just, but neither was averse to modifying a stand or outright changing his mind based on evidence and sound judgement, and not on which way the wind was blowing.

    Chronologically, and perhaps substantively, Taft deserves precedence. He was born into a political family, to say the least. His father was William Howard Taft, who was a President as well as Supreme Court Chief Justice. But Robert Taft had none of the usual political talents: he wasn’t of the old school, back-slapping, glad handing personality, and he was hardly what we’d call a great orator. He cared more about ideas and principles than public relations, and as a result seemed intellectual and overly abstract. By all conventional measures, then, Taft wasn’t a very good politician. In contrast, Church was affable and enjoyed public attention, but could rub people the wrong way with his unbending stands. Taft wasn’t exactly a slouch either on taking controversial stands on divisive issues. His basic political philosophy included a strong quasi-isolationist streak: he was critical of the agreements made at the Teheran and Yalta WW2 conferences. He felt the tendency to carve up Europe was dictated by Realpolitik and not by the spirit of law and justice. He also opposed the U.S. joining NATO and the UN, and was against too many American commitments abroad in the early Cold War. Like Church he objected to the imperialist, militarist trend in American foreign policy in the post-WW2 era, a trend that, by the way, continues to this day.

    But Taft wasn’t a knee jerk libertarian conservative: he supported progressive causes such as social security, public housing, and federal aid to education. Moreover, he was one of the few elected officials who spoke out against the internment of Japanese-Americans in WW2. In these contexts it’s instructive to consider Taft’s comment on liberalism:

    “Liberalism implies particularly freedom of thought, freedom from orthodox dogma, the right of others to think differently from one’s self. It implies a free mind, open to new ideas and willing to give attentive consideration to them … When I say liberty, I mean liberty of the individual to think his own thoughts and live his own life as he desires to think and live.”  [Profiles in Courage, p205].

     And this from a self-described conservative!

     In any case, and for better or worse, Taft’s big moment occurred on Oct 5, 1946, in a speech at Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio, as part of a three-day symposium on ‘The Heritage and Responsibility of English-Speaking Peoples.’ The topic of Taft’s speech was Anglo-American Law and Justice, a subject dear to his heart. In his speech Taft criticized the Nuremberg war crimes trials that had just taken place. Taft stunned the political world by objecting to the trial, conviction, and execution of 11 prominent Nazis including the number-two Nazi, Hermann Göring, who committed suicide at the last moment to avoid hanging. Taft asserted that the trials were conducted in the spirit of vengeance, and that vengeance can never be justice.

     Legal commentators noted that the trials were an example of the principle of legal positivism, as well as the unrestrained use of judicial power, pointing out that the crimes for which the Nazis were tried had no legal precedent and were not outlawed with the death penalty by the international community, i.e. they were a classic example of ex post facto laws. Moreover, Taft cautioned that the trials would not necessarily discourage countries from waging aggressive war, for no country or group wages a war without the expectation of victory. If world events since 1946 have taught us anything it’s that the so-called Nuremberg Principle has not discouraged countries, individuals and groups from committing aggressive acts, war or otherwise, in pursuit of political or military agendas.

     Be that as it may, JFK recounts in Profiles in Courage that there was a firestorm of protest from all sides of the political and journalistic spectrum as sources savagely criticized the senator for his impolitic stand. One attack was typical: “ … on this issue, as on so many others, Senator Taft shows that he has a wonderful mind which knows practically everything and understands practically nothing.” Take that! [3] However, the passage of time has given us a more nuanced perspective. Taft biographer James T. Patterson writes that “the trials so clearly rested on ‘victor’s justice’ that many experts later conceded the essential correctness of Taft’s position and that Taft’s ‘outspoken view of the trials … revealed the depth of his convictions on crucial issues’.” [Patterson, Mr. Republican, Houghton Mifflin, 1972, p. 328.] It would be misleading, however, to suggest that Taft’s position has been universally vindicated by history. To be sure, a substantial number of historians and non-historians agree with Taft’s views, but conversely a large number disagree and support the Nuremberg Principle.

     In any event, one of the results of the controversy was that Taft did not win the Republican presidential nomination in either 1948 or 1952. Eventually all the huffing and puffing calmed down and Taft’s stature rose to where today he’s considered one of the giants in the history of the Senate [4]. Senate chronicler Allen Drury called Taft one of the Senate’s “strongest and ablest men” and used Taft as the model for the few virtuous lawmakers in his 1959 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel Advise and Consent, later made into a much praised motion picture. Not for nothing then was a separate chapter devoted to Taft in Kennedy’s Profiles in Courage. Incidentally, Taft was the most recent of the eight senators included in the book, and the only one Kennedy ever met personally.     

     Frank Church’s brush with fame occurred nearly three decades later, in 1975-76, when he headed the Senate Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities, which has subsequently been referred to as the Church Committee. The committee investigated abuses and excesses by the CIA, FBI and NSA, all of which since their inception had had very little, if any, oversight by or accountability to Congress.
     One positive result of the committee’s investigations was the passage of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) in 1978, which established procedures for the surveillance and collection of foreign intelligence on domestic soil As a result at least some limits were placed on intelligence agencies’ ability to spy on ordinary citizens. There were other reforms as well, such as the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act, which would monitor overseas corporate bribery. In other words, the big three intelligence agencies were brought under the rule of law for the first time. Alas, the past half century has revealed that said agencies haven’t been exactly scrupulous in following either the spirit, or the letter, of the law.

     As much as Church’s work on the committee has assured his place in political history, an even greater, albeit much less well-known, moment occurred on February 21, 1968, in a speech on the Senate floor, in which Church specifically criticized American involvement in Vietnam. He also cautioned against the trends of U.S. imperialism and militarism generally, and the ascendancy of a national-security state [5]. Ergo the U.S. was acting more like an empire than a republic. Senator Ernest Gruening of Alaska, a fellow Vietnam skeptic, immediately proclaimed Church’s speech as one of the greatest made on the Senate floor since Daniel Webster. The speech is extensively quoted in Risen’s book and space precludes our inclusion in detail here, but perhaps we might be allowed to reference an especially prescient passage:
   
          “ … in the face of all this, I wish I could express some confidence that, by an act of our  own volition, we might soon commence to alter this country’s foreign policy from one of general, to one of selective, involvement. But I have no such confidence. Like other nations before us that drank deeply from the cup of foreign adventure, we are too enamored with the nobility of our mission to disenthrall ourselves. Besides, powerful vested interests now encrust and sanctify the policy. Were we to wait for the hierarchy of either political party to advocate a change of course, I fear we would wait indefinitely.”

     What is most remarkable about the speech, and this passage in particular, is not its soaring eloquence, but that it could be delivered today, in 2024 over a half century later, and be just as on the money, perhaps more so given recent events and the, frequently misguided, American response to said events. Church cautioned we might wait indefinitely for our leaders to change course, and today, nearly six decades later, it seems we’re still waiting.

     Church did not lack for critics, in his day or even today, but he and the committee he headed remind us of the possibility of abuses and excesses, however (ostensibly) well-intended, by official agencies, and the need for constant vigilance. One of the results of the committee was the mechanism to hold said agencies, especially the CIA, accountable and to restrain such unbridled excesses for which they became infamous. But such an assessment may be too sanguine in light of documented (and perhaps not so documented) abuses. As much as Washington’s spy apparatus came under tighter oversight and control, at least for a time, even a casual perusal of the five decades after the Church committee’s findings will reveal a plethora of “national security” operations carried out against foreign governments and ordinary American citizens.

     Church was once again uncannily prescient as he mused on such dangers in remarks delivered a half century ago:

         “The United States government has perfected a technological capability that enables us to monitor the messages that go through the air.… That capability at any time could be turned around on the American people, and no American would have any privacy left, such is the capability to monitor everything - telephone conversations, telegrams, it doesn’t matter. There would be no place to hide. I don’t want to see this country ever go across the bridge … That is the abyss from which there is no return.” [6]

    [1] There’s a certain ironic justice at work here: much as Taft commands greater stature historically, Church today is getting more attention by way of James Risen’s recent book The Last Honest Man: The CIA, the FBI, the Mafia, and the Kennedys – and One Senator's Fight to Save Democracy.

    [2] JFK is, perhaps appropriately so, the connecting thread of Robert Taft and Frank Church, in the case of Taft most conspicuously through Profiles in Courage (it’s actually unclear how well Kennedy knew Taft either personally or professionally, as his tenure in the U.S. Senate had been barely six months on when Taft died). In the case of Church the connection to Kennedy is more direct, and better documented, perhaps best recalled in Risen’s above-mentioned book, The Last Honest Man.

   [3] Some would say Kennedy’s deft sidestepping the substance of Taft’s position – i.e. whether he was right or wrong in his criticism of the Nuremberg trials – is typical of JFK’s tendency to evade, equivocate or procrastinate on controversial topics instead of facing them head-on. Fair enough. But if we read between the lines there’s at least some sympathy for the Taft point of view, and besides, to be perfectly technical, JFK chose his ‘profiles in courage’ not necessarily for the wisdom or praiseworthiness of their ideologies or actions, but to acknowledge that they stood up for principles that, although highly unpopular, simply couldn’t be compromised. To wit, Taft was famously touted as being one of the few politicians able to say ‘no’ (even to his friends and supporters), and in JFK’s defense he seemed to have adopted this Taft principle (at least some of the time).

    [4] Indeed, a 1957 Senate committee (incidentally headed by JFK) named Taft as one of America's five greatest senators, along with Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, John C. Calhoun, and Robert M. La Follette Sr., and portraits of the "famous five" are displayed in the Senate Reception Room. Taft was the most recent inductee, and, along with La Follette, the only representative from the Twentieth Century.
     Given the proclamation’s more than half century vintage only the most myopic, or cynical, of politics junkies would argue that no worthy names have emerged post 1957, and sure enough, in 2004, Arthur H. Vandenberg (Michigan) and Robert F. Wagner (New York) were added. In 2006, a mural commemorating the Connecticut Compromise (also known as the Great Compromise of 1787) was added with Roger Sherman and Oliver Ellsworth of Connecticut, resulting in the group's informal name becoming the "famous nine." There’s certain injustice (or is it justice?) that none of the four additions were active in the senate post 1957.

   [5] The full text of the admittedly long winded speech, titled ‘The Torment in the Land,’ can be found in the Senate Congressional Record, Wed. Feb 21, 1968.

   [6] NBC Meet the Press, August 17, 1975.

Carib-noir: Black Moon (1934)

      Black Moon [videorecording (DVD)]; a Columbia production; Columbia Pictures Corporation presents; screenplay by Wells Root, based story written by Clements Ripley; directed by Roy William Neill; cinematography by Joseph H. August; edited by Richard Cahoon. Culver City, Calif.: Sony Pictures Home Entertainment, 2011. Originally released as a motion picture in 1934. Performers: Jack Holt; Fay Wray; Dorothy Burgess; Cora Sue Collins; Arnold Korff.   
     Summary: a young girl who lives on a tropical island loses her parents to a voodoo sacrifice, but although she manages to escape the island, a curse is put on her. Years later, as an adult, she feels a strong compulsion to return to the island to confront her past. Her husband, her daughter and her nanny go with her, but once back on the island, the woman finds herself elevated by the locals to the stature of a voodoo goddess, and she begins her inevitable descent into madness, with disastrous results for her family.

    [Minor SPOILERS in comments below]. Black Moon is a little-remembered pre-Code gem that I recently stumbled upon at the public library. I’d just seen King Kong again and wanted to watch more movies with Fay Wray. Happily my library had a copy of Black Moon. Even better, the library also had Mystery of the Wax Museum, in which Miss Wray does some screaming that gives even her famous shrieks in Kong a run for their money.

    But getting back to Black Moon, it sounded interesting and I snapped it up right away. I wasn’t disappointed, though I must admit that Miss Wray, while she looks beautiful and turns in a competent performance, doesn’t register so much because the character she plays isn’t very interesting and furthermore doesn’t have that much to do. The real revelation is Dorothy Burgess as our ill-fated heroine. She was apparently a big deal in the early Thirties but her star faded quickly in the latter part of the decade. She died of lung cancer in 1961 at the youthful age of 54, largely forgotten. The character she plays is a well-bred sort with a decidedly Brit air [1] who secretly harbors an ambition to return to the island and become a voodoo high priestess. I suspect she enjoyed playing the bad girl, and performing a scandalous dance at that! Miss Burgess’s nuanced performance is all the more impressive when we consider that she was the ripe old age of twenty-seven. Did people really grow up faster in them days? In any event I predict that Black Moon is the role for which she’ll be remembered, if she's remembered at all.

    Of course the most notorious scene in Black Moon is Miss Burgess’s voodoo high priestess dance followed by ritual sacrifice [2]. She performs said dance scantily clad and with considerable verve, and for me the similarity here is not to the better-known I Walked with a Zombie (which has its own, more subdued, voodoo ritual dance scene), but Maria Montez’s infamous cobra dance in Cobra Woman. Miss Montez’s interpretation is doubtless campier (her over-the-top costume helps) but Miss Burgess is sexier. Alas, the scene breezes by all to quickly – even in the pre-Code years the studios could only push the envelope so far [3]. 

    You could say Black Moon rode the crest of popularity of voodoo/zombie movies that were popular in the 1930s and 1940s. Comparisons with the aforementioned, and better-known, I Walked with a Zombie from nearly a decade later are inevitable, and Black Moon holds its own pretty well. My DVD copy was very clean and brings out the film's superior production values. The only mild criticism I could offer is the lack of bonus features or commentary, especially regrettable given the film's historical significance and offbeat content. Indeed, were it not for the racist depictions of the natives, I'd be tempted to dub this one a minor masterpiece. Still, Black Moon gives us lots of atmosphere [4] and intelligent story delivered in a lean 68 minutes. Recommended.  

   A minor bit of trivia: in some scenes Dorothy Burgess and Fay Wray look enough alike to be sisters. I'm not sure whether this little detail is a plus or minus. Whatever. 
   Trivia, part 2: Theresa Harris, who appears as the Sacrifice Girl, also appeared in another zombie/voodoo movie. In I Walked with a Zombie, she plays the maid Alma.

[1] Her quasi-Brit vibe in Black Moon belies her through-and-through American bonafides: born in Los Angeles to a theatrical family, she worked in film and theater in the U.S., and as far as I can tell, never traveled outside the States.

[2] Although the penultimate scene in which there's a (near)sacrifice, followed by a real one, of a sort, is pretty shocking too.

[3] Speaking of pushing the envelope: for the ultimate in snake dance risqué try Marika Rökk's 'Schlangentanz' from Kora Terry (available for viewing on YouTube). This exotic dance routine is pretty outrageous even by today's standards, and more so considering the era, when all German cinema was under the purview of the strait-laced National Socialist regime. 

[4] Along with the much-referenced in this post I Walked with a Zombie, to me the movie that's most similar to Black Moon, especially in atmosphere, is the horror classic Island of Lost Souls.* In particular, Black Moon has a very Souls-esque last scene. Indeed, I might rate Souls as the best Fay Wray movie in which Fay Wray doesn't appear.

   * However, an honorable mention in similarity is due the atmospheric White Zombie (1932), in which the zombie elements are depicted overtly. Indeed, White Zombie is frequently cited as the first movies in which zombies are mentioned by name.  

Egyptissimo

    Brier, Bob. Egyptomania: Our Three Thousand Year Obsession with the Land of the Pharaohs, Palgrave Macmillan, 2013.
    Brier, Bob. The History of Ancient Egypt [DVDs]. Chantilly, VA, Teaching Co., [2003]. Series: The Great Courses. 8 discs and 4 course guidebooks.
    Cooney, Kara. When Women Ruled the World: Six Queens of Egypt. Washington, D.C., National Geographic, 2018.
    Cormack, Ralph. Midnight in Cairo: The Divas of Egypt's Roaring '20s, New York, Norton, 2021.
    Goldman Michal, director. Nasser's Republic: The Making of Modern Egypt (DVD). Narration by Hiam Abbass. Brooklyn, N.Y.: Icarus Films Home Video, 2016. Includes bonus features: director’s commentary; bonus clip; 16-page booklet.
    Olson, Lynne, Empress of the Nile: The Daredevil Archaeologist who saved Egypt's Ancient Temples from Destruction, New York, Random House, 2023.
    Snape, Steven. Ancient Egypt: The Definitive Visual History, DK, 2021.
    Treasures of Egypt: A Legacy in Photographs from the Pyramids to Cleopatra; Ann R. Williams, general editor, Washington, D.C., National Geographic, 2022.

     
    Being the centenary of Howard Carter’s famous discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb, 2022 inspired renewed interest in and coverage of all things Egyptian. But it was Carter’s sensational find on 4 November 1922 (and the subsequent lurid tales of an ancient curse) that generated a tidal wave of fascination for Eygyptiana that manifested itself in Egypt-influenced clothes, architecture, interior design, jewelry, and heaven knows what else, probably most infamously in the various mummy novels and movies. Thus we might assume the craze for all things Egyptian began in the early Twenties. No such thing. Truth be told, the phenomenon sometimes called Egyptomania had been around a long time, a very long time, centuries actually, even millennia. As just one example the Romans and Greeks of antiquity had a fascination with, even reverence for, Egyptian culture. To be sure, Egyptophilia (the other, possibly less pejorative, term) was given a bit of a jump start in 1798-99 with Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt and the attendant scientific and archaeological discoveries, most significant being the Rosetta Stone and its eventual deciphering by Jean-Francois Champollion. Thus, the ‘modern’ era of Egyptomania began around 1800 and really kicked into high gear with the discovery of Tut’s tomb in 1922, and continues in various guises to this day.
    While many people are interested in the legitimate history of Ancient Egypt, probably many more folks (myself included) are fascinated by the Egypt of myth, legend, pseudohistory and pop culture. And this is not necessarily a bad thing. But more to the point, why Egypt? And not, say, the Incas in Peru, or the Maya of Central America and Mexico, or the ancient Chinese civilizations, or the Khmer Empire in Southeast Asia, they of the massive temple complex at Angkor. Or … well, you get the idea. In some mysterious way we have a thing for Ancient Egypt that we don’t have with other ancient cultures. As for me, it’s difficult to say exactly but it must have something to do with how long the civilization lasted, how far away it is in time, its exotic yet familiar design qualities, and, not least, the massive scale of the structures. And yes, I admit that I enjoy all the mummy movies – each is entertaining in its own way – but my favorite is the first, classic, darkest and probably most archaeologically accurate version, The Mummy (1932) with Boris Karloff.
     Mummy movies aside, Egypt’s tentacles reach far and wide, sometimes appearing in unlikely venues: in the 1933 original King Kong a member of the expedition crew opines that the massive wall built to keep Kong in looks like it could be Egyptian. Movie auteur Carl Denham then goes him one better by invoking Angkor (“nobody knows who built it”). Then there are other, in-your-face, reminders like the Luxor Hotel in – where else? – Las Vegas. More edifying is the fact that Sigmund Freud was an inveterate collector of Egyptian artifacts, art, and books on ancient Egypt. It’s not too far off the mark to think that Freud saw a connect between archaeology and psychoanalysis. Others have noted that writers and readers of mystery novels are also fans of ancient archaeology. In any case these examples have at their center an uncovering, a gradual revealing of what was hitherto buried, often with a surprise or twist ending.
    In any event the titles listed above are a grab bag with no discernable focus other than most are of (relatively) recent vintage and each in its own way, with varying degrees of success, represents an attempt to capture the mystery and mystique of all things Egyptian.
    I’m not qualified to judge how ‘definitive’ Steven Snape’s coffee table romp through ancient Egyptian history and culture is, but judged on its own merits Ancient Egypt: The Definitive Visual History is a mostly impressive achievement and has the usual high gloss qualities one expects from a DK production. The thorough index and intensely detailed acknowledgments section in particular add a certain academic heft to the mix. However – and it’s a near deal-breaking however – there’s no footnotes or even a token reading list, much less a true bibliography. An occasional title is tossed out randomly but we find nothing even close to a systematic listing of sources. But given that the rest of the book is so good, we can, if not exactly forgive the omission, appreciate the book’s other, not inconsiderable, qualities, best of which are the many sumptuous illustrations.
    Published during the Tut centenary of 2022, National Geographic’s Treasures of Egypt might be seen as the famous society’s coffee table answer to DK’s sumptuously extravagant volume. As to be expected the large tome is dominated by historical and current photos that present Egypt in all is splendiferous and mysterious glory. The book will hold few surprises for specialists or even well-informed amateurs, but the illustrations are something to behold. Alas, like Ancient Egypt: The Definitive Visual History, there’s no reading list.
    I’ve seen several of the Great Courses lectures on DVD and listened to a few on CD, and Bob Brier’s DVD traversal, The History of Ancient Egypt, is my all things considered choice as the best, or at least my favorite. In an engaging style that walks a fine line between audience-friendly and esoteric, he gives us a near perfect introduction to the mysteries of Egypt for the novice enthusiast or well informed amateur, and he even provides enough minutiae and specialized information to appeal to the serious student or specialist. There is never a sense of dumbing down the material, and this marvelous perusal once again reminds us of the cultural treasure that the Great Courses series is, either in their CD or DVD incarnations, with the caveat that even they have the occasional misfire, i.e. a boring presenter. But not this one. Brier’s infectious enthusiasm shines through and as a presenter he’s smooth and reasonably entertaining. In any case his chronologic approach with selected side trips to mummification, archaeological digs, and mummy movies maintains a remarkable consistency throughout the 48 lectures.
    Brier’s book Egyptomania might be seen as an unofficial condensed version, a kind of pop history take on his Great Courses lecture. Especially noteworthy are the many illustrations: posters, movie stills, pottery, toiletries, cigarettes, cigarette cases, jewelry, et al. There’s exceptionally strong coverage, perhaps too strong (i.e. to the de-emphasis of other, worthy subjects), on the removal and transportation of obelisks. Despite this imbalance, Brier’s book may be recommended as an entertaining breeze though one man’s obsession with Egyptiana, as well as an accessible introduction to the topic. Along with the present book, the reader may also be interested in checking out Joyce Tyldesley’s Tutankhamen: The Search for an Egyptian King and Ronald H. Fritze, Egyptomania: A History of Fascination, Obsession and Fantasy, both of which offer similar if meatier treatments of the subject.
    As for Kara Cooney’s When Women Ruled the World, none of the six women profiled actually ruled the world, but as is revealed in the book’s subtitle, only Egypt. And even given Egypt’s primacy as the dominant culture of the era, there were lots of other civilizations around, each with its own traditions and, invariably male, rulers. At any rate When Women Ruled the World: Six Queens of Egypt focuses on the six women who ruled as absolute monarchs of Egypt: the better-known figures of Hatshepsut, Nefertiti, and Cleopatra, and the much less familiar Merneith, Neferusobek, and Tawosret. Of the lesser known rulers, Merneith is perhaps the most interesting: her reign goes all the way back to the early mists of history, ca. 3,000 BCE.
    Cooney’s basic thesis is that women rulers in ancient Egypt were not the normal way of business but that they usually came into power, and often held it, in periods of national stress. Less persuasive perhaps are Cooney’s frequent conclusions regarding these six queens and today’s female rulers and women leaders generally. The book’s academic gloss includes map, bibliography, illustrations, chronology, and detailed footnotes. See also Cooney’s informative DVD, Ancient Female Rulers: The Women Who Ruled the World (3500 Years Ago), Dreamscape Media, 2021, which covers much the same territory in somewhat more abbreviated fashion.
     With Robert Cormack’s Midnight in Cairo: The Divas of Egypt's Roaring '20s, we jump forward a couple of millennia (at least), and I confess much of my enjoyment of the book is due to the narrative’s semi-gossipy style as Cormack recalls the many colorful personalities, both substantial and more peripheral, that flit in and out of the narrative.
     While Midnight in Cairo is ostensibly a breezy examination of the history of entertainment in Egypt, focusing on the nightlife of the 1920s & ‘30s, specifically the energetic music, theater, film, and cabaret scenes, all is skillfully filtered through the political and social backdrop of Egypt in the first half of the Twentieth Century. In this historically conservative culture, the Twenties and Thirties in Egypt were more a (near)anything-goes time in performance and the arts, not unlike the Weimar era in Germany at the same time. And the independence of women entertainers paralleled the struggle for women’s rights: opportunities for women were greater and indeed the women asserted themselves. As the book progresses we have more emphasis on the political scene and less on the entertainment industry. As mentioned above, numerous picaresque characters spice the narrative in starring or supporting roles, but for me hors concours go to the irrepressible belly dancing diva Tahiya Carioca in all her over-the-top glory. But there was more to the woman than just being an entertainer: she was something of a feminist activist and supported numerous left-wing causes [1]. In this historically less-than-progressive society, she was perhaps the highest exemplar of the remarkable women profiled in the book during a time when there was freedom and passionate expression in the arts, entertainment, and even political arenas. It all coalesced into a nightlife scene that’s today, alas, largely lost to history.
     The remarkable documentary Nasser’s Republic overlaps much of the era of Midnight in Cairo, and indeed the two cover some of the same issues (for example, Egypt’s road to modernity). But there the similarity ends. Told largely by way of rare archival footage, Nasser’s Republic is a thoughtful, realpolitik examination of Nasser’s near two decades rule as President of Egypt in the 1950s and 1960s. The documentary is also, to a lesser extent, a profile of the man himself.
     As the narrative makes clear, for all his accomplishments in making Egypt a modern nation, and his unflagging popularity with the masses, Nasser never really achieved his stated goal of making Egypt a legitimate democracy. Indeed his methods were decidedly authoritarian. Even so, Nasser comes off as one who ruled more by charisma than by attention to abstract issues and bureaucratic detail. The broad brushstroke narrative rushes through the 1960s and especially the Six-Day War, instead focusing on the 1950s and, a few years later, the building of the Aswam Dam. The best part perhaps is the interview footage with poets, journalists, historians, Nasser associates, and especially Nasser’s daughter, all of which humanizes Nasser and gives texture to the story. While Nasser’s Republic is a mostly sympathetic view of its subject, on balance, it’s an even-handed account, and highly recommended.
     Lynne Olson’s fascinating Empress of the Nile gives full due to a major if somewhat low-profile figure in Egyptology, Christiane Desroches-Noblecourt, and in particular her heroic efforts to preserve ancient Egyptian monuments and artifacts in danger of being destroyed in the building of the massive Aswan Dam in the 1960s. There’s also substantial coverage of Desroches-Noblecourt’s acitivites in occupied Paris during World War II, which included work for the Resistance. The narrative also recounts Jackie Kennedy’s efforts as a rescuer of cultural artifacts, which included her own, not inconsiderable, efforts in persuading the Kennedy administration to financially support the Egyptian artifacts rescue project. Empress is a an engaging, reader-friendly read. Recommended.

   [1] Tahiya Carioca was known for her outspoken views and volcanic personality. One of the more entertaining anecdotes is the (possibly apocryphal) story of when she threw her shoe at Susan Hayward at the 1956 Cannes Film Festival in retaliation for Hayward's insulting comments about Arabs.

coffee-table can be beautiful

     Albrecht, Donald. Cecil Beaton: The New York Years. New York, Skira Rizzoli, 2011. [Published on the occasion of the exhibition of the same name held at the Museum of the City of New York, October 2011-March 2012.]  
   Brassaï : For the Love of Paris, Agnès de Gouvion Saint-Cyr [exhibition curator]. Paris, Flammarion, 2013. Translated from the French by David Radizinowicz. "Simultaneously published in French as Brassaï, pour l'amour de Paris" (Title page verso). [Published on the occasion of an exhibition held from November 8, 2013 to March 8, 2014 in the Salle Saint-Jean at the Hôtel de Ville in Paris].
     Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style. New York, DK, 2012. [‘Smithsonian’ - cover]
     Jorgensen, Jay and Scoggins, Donald L. Creating the Illusion: A Fashionable History of Hollywood Costume Designers. Foreword by Ali MacGraw. Philadelphia, Running Press; Atlanta, Turner Classic Movies, [2015].  


     There’s the coffee table and then there’s the coffee table book. Alas, so called coffee-table books have attained a bad odor: they’re really just ornaments for display, things not really to be savored, much less read. Thus the moniker. In a word, they’re status symbols that advertise how cultured (and how well off) we are. Official sources tend to reinforce this: the term reportedly made its first appearance in a 1961 issue of Arts Magazine, and according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, coffee-table refers to "a large expensive book with many pictures that is typically placed on a table for people to look at in a casual way." Similarly, the august New Oxford American Dictionary, Third Edition, chimes in with the almost exact same definition: a large, expensive, lavishly illustrated book, especially one intended only for casual reading. However … I hope the four volumes listed above will to some extent refute this assumption: they have scrumptious photos but also sprightly, well informed, highly literate texts, so much so that at least one of them might be considered a full-on monograph.    

    The Brassaï volume is in its way the most substantial, though not necessarily the most beautiful, of the four. While Brassaï was a man of many talents – novelist, sculptor and painter – it’s his nighttime vistas of Paris that assure his place in aesthetic history. Indeed, the Hungarian-born Gyulus Halasz (1899–1984), who worked as Brassaï, was something of a lifelong Paris specialist, and the black and white images herein concentrate on the between-the-wars years and the 1950s. It’s not too much of an exaggeration to say that the city has never been captured so evocatively or poetically. My favorites are the photos that distill the melancholy and mystery of the night, and especially those that give us the night people – criminals, prostitutes, grifters, night owls, alcoholics, drug addicts, cabaret entertainers, the homeless – in the all their unsavory splendor. Brassaï: For the Love of Paris further benefits from David Radizinowicz’s insightful translation from the French. Includes a chronology.

    As for Cecil Beaton, he was of course more than just a portrait and fashion photographer. Illustrator, artist, set and costume designer, incorrigible bon vivant, his many talents are seen to best advantage in the extravagant volume that’s Cecil Beaton: The New York Years. Fans of Beaton will lap up this book like catnip and if one is new to his work you’ll probably become a fan quickly. We have page after page of mouth-watering photos (some never before published) of the beautiful – in all senses of the word – people. I’m especially partial to the candid(?) and not-so-candid entries of Greta Garbo. Also making an appearance are the usual suspects of the rich, famous and notorious: Brando, Astaire, Warhol, Marilyn, Capote, Callas, Chanel, Mick Jagger. Indeed Beaton ran with the beau monde and, like Capote and a few others, blurred the line between self and subject.
    Not so surprising then that this volume features selections from the elite figures in art, theater, fashion and the entertainment worlds from the 1930s to the 1960s. The portraits and ‘informal’ photos are fine, but what captures my heart are the illustrations of the theatrical costume designs in their technicolor glory. In his designs Beaton had an eye for the classical style and brought truth to the adage that old is always new again if we wait long enough. In sum, Cecil Beaton: The New York Years is a wonderful production and shows how classy a ‘coffee-table book’ can be.

    Speaking of classy coffee table books, Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style, while it may overstate its title – I’m not sure what a ‘definitive’ history would look like – this massive volume is nonetheless a feast for the senses, well, certainly for the eyes. As the fellow said, fashion changes but art and artistry doesn’t.
     Impressive in its range and with impeccable production values, Fashion covers the most important trends in costume and style from antiquity to the present. True to DK form, the book scores on quality – and most definitely quantity – of illustrations; layout; and, to a certain extent, content, providing almost too many facts in one volume. Each chapter has a timeline; analysis of social, historical and cultural issues; major trends; feature articles on fashion legends and major designers; and many, many illustrations. The detailed index, even with its squint inducing small print, is also a plus, though conspicuously absent is a reading list or footnotes.
     One curiosity about Fashion is that there’s no author credited, not even an editor. There are lots of names listed on the copyright page, thus we assume this production was done by committee. However – to be perfectly technical, a listing of ‘consultant authors’ and ‘writers’ is provided on pages [8-9]. In any event, and perhaps not so surprising, the writing itself, while commendable in the plethora of information it offers, has a certain generic quality and lacks a cohesive voice or point of view.
     If I were to quibble, and it’s only a quibble, I would have preferred more coverage of costume design in the movies, and in particular its influence on fashion trends in the broader culture, especially during cinema’s golden age (roughly 1930-1955). Another caveat, if that is the word: the book’s content leans heavily toward women’s fashions, along with an almost total emphasis on white, American/Euro fashions that rich people wore, to the almost total exclusion of other cultures and socio/economic groups. Still, as long as there are those who appreciate the chronicling of costume design, conveyed through the most luxuriant imagery, Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style will never go out of style. 

    As much as Fashion: The Definitive History … may be a little weak on costume and the movies, Creating the Illusion: A Fashionable History of Hollywood Costume Designers fills the void admirably, almost with a vengeance. The cover photo of a wildly adorned Marlene Dietrich gives us an idea of the extravagant treasures to be found inside the pages of this huge tome. The book then is little short of nirvana for film lovers, especially those partial to the Golden Age. Each chapter has a brief biography of a designer, starting with the silent era and progressing more or less to the present. The better-known designers get several pages each, with heavy emphasis on the biographic details to the detriment somewhat of the aesthetic elements. A parochial observation: I was delighted to see that longtime RKO designer Renié Conley (who usually went by just plain ‘Renié’) was given a chapter. Among many other films, she created the wardrobes for the Val Lewton horror classics in the 1940s, and won the Oscar in 1963 for her over-the-top designs for Cleopatra.    
    Creating the Illusion then is a beguiling, somewhat incongruous combination of photos of near camp, and, in some cases, straight-on camp costumes, combined with a sensitive, knowing text that borders on the scholarly. The verdict: the book is an absolute stunner, and will delight movie fans, especially connoisseurs of classic cinema. A mild criticism: as the book's subtitle implies, the coverage is very Hollywood-centric, thus, and alas, very few, if any, foreign films are included.

killer's kiss: Day of the Jackal (1973)

     The  Day of the Jackal. [videorecording (DVD)]. Universal; Fred Zinnemann's film; a John Woolf production; directed by Fred Zinnemann; produced by John Woolf; screenplay by Kenneth Ross. Universal City, CA: Universal, c1998.
    Blu-ray version: Arrow Video, [United States], 2018. Special features of Blu-ray DVD: new interview with Neil Sinyard, author of Fred Zinnemann: Films of Character and Conscience; two rare archival clips from the film set, including an interview with Fred Zinnemann; theatrical trailer.
    Originally released as a motion picture in 1973. From the book by Frederick Forsyth. Photographer, Jean Tournier; editor, Ralph Kemplen; music, Georges Delerue. Performers: Edward Fox (The Jackal), Michel Lonsdale (Claude Lebel), Alan Badel (The Minister), Tony Britton (Inspector Thomas), Eric Porter (Col. Rodin), Jean Martin (Wolenski), Cyril Cusack (Gunsmith), Delphine Seyrig (Madame de Montpellier).
     Summary: the story of a cold, suave British assassin hired by the French OAS to kill General Charles de Gaulle. The nameless and faceless killer, known by the code name of Jackal, relentlessly moves toward the date with death that would rock the world. The tension mounts as the methodical preparations of the Jackal are paralleled with the efforts of the police to uncover the plot, which gives the story non-stop, edge-of-your-seat suspense.
    

    2023 marks the fiftieth anniversary of the release of Day of the Jackal, Fred Zinnemann’s superlative take on the political assassin film. It’s my favorite assassin movie and indeed would be competitive for a spot in my all-time top ten favorites, regardless of genre. It’s one of those movies I can see over and over and it never gets old, and that’s one of my definitions of a great movie – it holds up, and sometimes even gets better, with repeated viewings. That being said, I confess I sometimes fast forward through the (few) slow parts (but don’t tell anyone!). Though the impression may be erroneous, and surprising, given Jackal’s many qualities, I don’t see it listed as high or as often as I might expect in online best-of-assassin movies compilations, and it seems to have settled into an under-the-radar status for the most part. Is it because it didn’t win any major awards, did only so-so at the box office (despite good critical reviews) or has a mostly non-star cast? (though one might argue that Derek Jacobi and even Edward Fox became [almost] major stars). Anyhow who can say?

   Despite its half century vintage Jackal has an amazingly modern look and feel, and it could all boil down to its non-sentimentalized, quasi-documentary style, which is further reinforced by the lack of a background music score. It’s all helmed by Zinnemann’s supreme directorial skills, though the thriller is not a genre with which we usually associate him. Indeed the film takes such a detailed, you-are-there approach, that the viewer readily accepts that he’s watching real events unfold and not just a scripted story. However – and it’s a big however, I’m always a little troubled by the Jackal’s obvious miscalculations, to the point of recklessness. They don’t convince given his otherwise cold, low-risk style. Moreover, for all that the Jackal possesses near preternatural skills as well as an uncanny talent for improvisation, this disconnect doesn’t quite jibe.

    These reservations notwithstanding, the Jackal fits the mold of the somewhat romanticized pop culture version of the hired killer: he’s well educated, well dressed, well spoken, polite – in his way – and he works independently. And of course he can literally take out an adversary with one hand tied behind his back. Moreover, he projects a blandly anonymous, workmanlike image (including aforementioned lethal fighting skills), all presented in smoothly aristocratic packaging.

     One downside of my otherwise excellent library copy of the Universal DVD is the complete dearth of special features. A movie like Jackal would seem to cry out for such extras. I’m not familiar with the Blu-ray special edition version, i.e. I haven’t seen it, but I note that it has special features.

     Great on-location scenes, especially in Paris and Genoa, add to the film’s authenticity, and the international flair isn’t diminished by the unmistakable Brit overlay, most obviously present in the British dominated cast, who don’t make any attempt to disguise their old boy accents. The ladies fare better in the ethnicity/accent department. Delphine Seyrig, Olga Georges-Picot, and Colette Bergé have an unmistakable French vibe about them. By the way, an interesting bit of trivia: the character played by Delphine Seyrig is always referred to in the film as Madame de Montpellier, though in credits online and elsewhere her character is listed as ‘Colette.’ Curious. Editorial comment: yes, I did see the so-called remake The Jackal and thought it was absolutely terrible. Stay with the original.

    One caveat: Day of the Jackal does move at a rather stately pace, i.e. it will seem slow to some viewers. Thus if your tastes tend to screeching tires, fiery conflagrations and brutal hand-to-hand fights, Jackal may not be your cup of tea. Perhaps because the film treats the characters and actions in a fairly neutral style, I find myself rooting for both the Jackal and police inspector Lebel. And why not? A close, down-to-the-wire photo finish is always more fun than a rout, no?

the baroque pleasures of Mr. Arkadin

 

    The complete Mr. Arkadin a.k.a. Confidential Report (Motion picture). Janus Films; written and directed by Orsen Welles; photography, Jean Bourgoin; editor, Henzo Lucien; music, Paul Misraki. Special edition 3-disc set, fullscreen. Irvington, New York: The Criterion Collection, c2006. 3 DVDs (approximately 302 min.); booklet (35 pages, illustrations).
   Includes: "The Cornith version," originally released as a motion picture in 1955; "Confidential report," originally released as a motion picture in 1995; "The comprehensive version," originally released as a motion picture in 2006.
    Performers: Orson Welles, Robert Arden, Akim Tamiroff, Mischa Auer, Michael Redgrave, Jack Watling, Paola Mori, Patricia Medina. Summary: American smuggler Guy van Strattan decides to investigate the mysterious Mr. Arkadin after hearing about the wealthy man from a prison cellmate, but Arkadin claims amnesia about his own life, sending van Strattan off to investigate Arkadin's past. Filming locations: Sebastiansplatz, Munich, Bavaria, Germany; Spain; Bavaria Studios, Grünwald, Bavaria, Germany; France; Germany; Italy; Sevilla Films, Madrid, Spain; Switzerland (Château de Chillon); London, England, UK.

 

    Mr. Arkadin is one of the films in the Orson Welles oeuvre that I haven’t seen, at least not all of it: until recently I’d only caught snippets via various Welles documentaries. As I don’t possess the DVD and my public library lacks a copy, I was delighted at my good fortune to stumble upon it recently on television [1]. While flipping channels I came across this strange, Bergmanesque movie that was totally fascinating. I was hooked even before I knew what the movie was, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that it was a Welles film. Best of all I came in at a point near the beginning so I was able to see the bulk of the film. Despite its reputation as a ‘problematic’ Welles product, I enjoyed it very much. Still, and while very much a Welles fan, I readily admit that Arkadin isn’t his best movie, or even close to his best, but it’s one strange movie and in its wacky way one of his most enjoyable. Moreover, the convoluted plot and visual felicities most definitely reward repeated viewings. It’s been compared to The Third Man and Citizen Kane in style and content, and some go so far as to say it’s a Third Man sequel, of a sort. Commentators also note similarities to The Trial. I can appreciate the sentiments but, with its off-kilter angles, densely packed bric-a-brac visuals, and character grotesques, including a more or less villain protagonist, among other touches, Arkadin has strong overtones of the Welles film that immediately follows, Touch of Evil [2]. In fact, Arkadin might well be considered a warm-up for Touch of Evil.  

     There's no one authoritative version of Arkadin/Confidential Report, much less a director’s cut, though the Criterion release generously gives us three versions to choose from. I leave to others to sort out all the different edits, influences, chronologies, intrigues and permutations (some sources claim there are as many as seven separate incarnations, including two Spanish versions) [3]. At the very least, as is the case with many of his films, Mr. Arkadin – in any of its iterations – probably doesn’t reflect Welles’s original, auteurist vision, whatever it might have been. By the way a great introduction (14 min.) to Arkadin by ‘Joel’ covering many aspects is available on Youtube.

    Arkadin/Confidential Report is endlessly fascinating, in almost equal measure for its near incomprehensible plot and surrealist visual style as for its labyrinthine production history. Mr. Arkadin then is the definitive Welles cult film, though hardcore Welles heads may argue the point. Whichever version we’re served up, from the three in the Criterion set, or amongst the other … four(?), as is always true for a Welles film, there’s plenty to savor. In this case not the least of the riches is the, typically Wellesian, offbeat cast: the much-maligned Robert Arden as the shady journeyman is actually pretty good, at least a good fit in the role; Katina Paxinou as a no-nonsense brothel madam who oozes cynicism; Mischa Auer who manages his flea circus; Paola Mori, Welles's to-be wife, as Raina, Arkadin’s daughter; Akim Tamiroff, the worse-for-wear Jakob Zouk; Suzanne Flon as the shady Baroness Nagel; Michael Redgrave as a fey shop owner; and best of all Patricia Medina as the dancer Milly. And of course Welles himself as the portentous title character.

   1 The Mr. Arkadin I caught on tv, appropriately late at night, is probably the public domain cut that Wellesophiles famously disapprove of, though in truth I can’t verify which Arkadin it was that I saw (even if I could tell the difference).
   2 Other than style one similarity to Touch of Evil are the many studio-imposed cuts and changes, thus both films have a bumpy narrative. Update, 4 Aug. 2026: I finally got around to watching The Trial, and given its phantasmagoric style and content it strikes me as a top candidate for the Welles product closest in spirit to Arkadin.
  3 The above referenced Criterion release apparently covers these and other issues pretty thoroughly. Indeed, a study of the film’s mangled evolution and resultant permutations would seem ready-made grist for the mill for an enterprising doctoral student: if a PhD thesis hasn’t already been done, I’m sure one is not far off. Be that as it may, I can’t resist recalling a couple of the myriad stories of the film’s dark, tangled past: one is the tale of Welles and his collaborators ‘liberating’ hotel furniture for one location scene; another yarn, even more bizarre, involves the film’s co-producer, one Louis Dolivet, who may well have been a KGB agent who was laundering money he’d embezzled from his Soviet masters.

enigmatic rebel: Ann Dvorak

    Rice, Christina. Ann Dvorak: Hollywood’s Forgotten Rebel. Lexington, KY, University Press of Kentucky, 2013.

     From 1930 to 1934 a group of amazing little films burst onto the motion picture scene, much to the chagrin of self-appointed moralists. These movies, which today we dub pre-Codes, presented a rawer, more realistic view of the human condition, and by implication, they were a blistering critique of American society in general. Among other qualities, pre-Code films were notable for their fast pacing, snappy dialogue, edgy stories, lean, mean set designs, and most of all, tough, worldly-wise characters who more often than not were driven by self-interest, self-indulgence, sensuality, and quick fixes, including (sometimes unpunished) crime. All was presented in just an hour or so and with an obvious theatrical pedigree. In short, the pre-Code movies just had a different look and feel about them. However, under growing public pressure and threats of boycotts, the motion picture industry initiated the Code-enforced era beginning July 1934, which insisted that movies present a more wholesome view of the world. The studios by and large obliged, and, as they say, the rest is history.
     Mirroring the era of pre-Code itself, the careers of many stars faded quickly in the mid and late Thirties. These former luminaries are little more than footnotes in cinema history, and they include once big names, today largely forgotten, like Ruth Chatterton, Miriam Hopkins, Karen Morley, Dorothy Burgess, Ann Harding, Mae Marsh, Ruth Donnelly, Glenda Farrell, David Manners, Warren William, Chester Morris, Mae Clark, and Dorothy Mackaill. Alas, for a number of reasons both personal and professional, Ann Dvorak was one of the casualties whose promise never blossomed to the extent that seemed inevitable in her peak year of 1932. Looked at objectively, her career arc is spotty at best, but devotees relish her performances in the pre-Codes, especially Scarface and Three on a Match, two of her best loved films. A fun bit of trivia is that she appeared as Della Street in an early film version of a Perry Mason mystery, The Case of the Stuttering Bishop (1937). But Ann Dvorak had a talent for self-destruction: she committed the unpardonable sin of challenging the big studios (she tussled with Warners over her contract amid rancorous legal battles). As was the norm in them days, she lost. A couple years later Warners let her go, and she was determined never to attach herself to a major studio again; she was now a free agent. But her career never fully recovered. She was an ambulance driver in London in World War II and later in the Forties was mostly relegated to B movies and bit parts. A starring role of some interest during this time was her appearance in The Private Affairs of Bel-Ami (1947), with George Sanders.
     She left movies altogether in 1951 at the age of forty. In addition to being a rebel and free spirit, Ann Dvorak was that rare bird in golden age Hollywood: a film star who was an intellectual. Her cerebral pursuits included horticulture, book collecting, writing (a pet project was a history of the world), and most improbably, bacteriology. She spent her final years in Honolulu living in obscurity and semi-poverty and died in 1979 at the – by today’s standards – relatively youthful age of sixty-eight. But due to a number of factors – the revival of interest in pre-Code movies and their exposure via TCM, DVDs and theatrical releases; a growing online presence via various tributes and posts; and not least of all, Christina Rice’s marvelous biography – Ann Dvorak’s star has brightened in recent years and she’s finally getting the recognition denied her for decades.
     Christina Rice’s Ann Dvorak: Hollywood’s Forgotten Rebel is a triumph. As the author points out tracking down information on such an under-the-radar subject was not an easy task, to say nothing of locating folks who had actually known her personally. But she persisted and her tome is veritably a model for a star biography, and especially for a biography of a once (near) major star who had faded from public view. The book then is a felicitous balance of the scholarly and the popular: reader-friendly but having the usual academic patina in the form of extensive index, notes and reading list, and a complete filmography. Especially noteworthy are the many photographs – most of them culled from the author’s private collection – of the eminently photogenic Miss Dvorak, even when she’s a bit worse-for-wear. It’s obvious Rice has a genuine affection for her subject but manages an objective view, and the sympathetic biography nicely balances professional and personal elements. As expected the big movies receive more extensive treatment but the lesser ones get respectable coverage as well. While we may infer that indeed Ann Dvorak appeared in her share of mediocre movies, even a few bad ones, she brought class and professionalism to every film she was in. The recalling of Dvorak’s attempts to challenge the big studios, mostly on contracts, reminds us of the power of the studio system in moviedom’s ‘golden age’ (the 1930s and 1940s), and the near slave-like hold the corporate giants had over its stars, both major and minor.
     For ultimately the Ann Dvorak story isn’t unique in the annals of the entertainment industry, and like other performers with unfulfilled careers, any number of wha-if type questions arise. Would things have turned out differently if she hadn’t been so headstrong and hadn’t challenged the big studios early in her career; if only she’d played the game in the usual way and remained patient and let her career develop along more conventional lines; if she had gotten the role of Sadie Thompson in Rain, rather than losing out to Joan Crawford; if she hadn’t left the movies at such a relatively young age. Alas, as in all these kinds of questions, we have that always frustrating and unsatisfying answer: we’ll never know. What we do know is what she did, and, as much as is possible, who she was. But mostly we have her best films, those handful of pre-Codes, and for that we’re the richer.