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.

the Fifties were 'the best of everything'

The Best of Everything. Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation; screenplay by Edith Sommer and Mann Rubin; directed by Jean Negulesco. Based on the novel by Rona Jaffe. Director of photography, William C. Mellor; film editor, Robert Simpson; music, Alfred Newman. Performers: Hope Lange, Stephen Boyd, Suzy Parker, Martha Hyer, Diane Baker, Brian Aherne, Robert Evans, Louis Jourdan, Joan Crawford.
Summary: It’s 1959, a time of post-WW2 prosperity and Cold War angst. New York is the publishing and intellectual capital of America. Four typists at a publishing house fight to have their own careers and find true love in the ruthless New York business world.

style ****
substance ***1/2

The Best of Everything is often lumped together with late Fifties and early Sixties camp classics like Valley of the Dolls (recently reviewed in these pages) and Peyton Place. To be exact, Dolls appeared nearly a decade later, in 1967, and in the opinion of the writer, is a much different, and ultimately inferior, work to both aforementioned titles. But more on that later.

First, it must be admitted that said comparisons are not without merit. And inasmuch as Everything’s über Fifties gestalt might solidify its status as the original Valley of the Dolls, it also harkens back to those ‘women’s pictures’ of the early Thirties which starred the likes of Kay Francis, Ruth Chatterton, Joan Blondell and, yes, Joan Crawford, the present film’s nominal but mostly invisible star.

Indeed, there are striking similarities to Valley of the Dolls: three ingénues try their hand at the big time, and one meets with a tragic end. There’s also an intimidating, tough-as-nails old pro that the ingénues secretly aspire to. In both films this character is portrayed by a mega-star from cinema’s Golden Age. Both films are set in an artsy milieu, and both have male romantic interests that cut pretty poor figures, caddish in one film and weak and dull in the other. There is an equivocal ending in which the main ingénue literally walks out of the picture. And of course both have lushly romantic music scores with memorable title tunes.

Even with all the topical elements, Best of Everything has aged pretty well. The characters and their concerns still resonate, and moreover, the production elements are first-rate and everything works together in beautiful synergy, all contributing to a very easy-to-watch cinematic experience. An exception: the much-praised mod office interiors. Truth to tell they didn’t do that much for me. I’m more partial to the coffee shop where the principals like to hang out, or theatre auteur David Wilder Savage’s book- and African art-laden bachelor pad.

The opening pan of New York City with the lush theme music sets the tone and recalls the beginning of Love is a Many Splendored Thing (the panorama in that film was Hong Kong), with music again by Fox mainstay Alfred Newman [1]. Johnny Mathis’s silky voice croons the lilting title tune and we can be forgiven for thinking this one will be another campy soaper. But no, it’s not. And in fact it wouldn’t be too far off the mark to say the opening sequence is the best part of the entire film from a purely cinematic point of view. The street scenes of folks going to work are also reminiscent of the, more frantic, opening of North by Northwest, which came out the same year.

Best of Everything gives us a glamorous, well-scrubbed New York that was the center of the universe, populated by beautiful people and beautiful people-wannabes in which all the women wear Dior dresses and the men favor gray suits. A Weegee’s New York it's not: for all the inter-office backbiting in the story, from a purely visual standpoint there’s not a hint of the literally dark New York we see in other films of the era (TV shows, too), most blisteringly so in the sulfuric, gloves-off late noir classic Sweet Smell of Success. But I digress.

As for the principals, Best of Everything is for the most part exceptionally well cast. In what’s little more than an extended cameo, Joan Crawford is wonderful playing a very Joan Crawford-esque character to which she manages to bring some nice shadings. And for all of Joan’s (in)famous scenery chewing, this is actually a rather restrained performance. It helps that she’s ably directed by former collaborator Jean Negulesco. Usually thought of as a Forties film noir specialist, here he shows a nice touch for a Fifties aesthetic and maybe deserves the credit for reining Joan in. The three girls in the big city – Hope Lange, Suzy Parker, and Diane Baker – are well chosen and bring energy and believability to their roles. The men, both actors and characters, fare less well, though oily Louis Jordan and an Errol Flynn-esque Brian Aherne make strong impressions.

Getting back to the Valley of the Dolls comparison: The Best of Everything is more subtle, more honest, and certainly less over-the-top, and thus has few if any of the camp qualities of Dolls. It may simply be that Everything is the genuine item, i.e. a Fifties story actually shot in the Fifties, while Dolls was a Fifties idea shot in the ultimate swinging Sixties, summer-of-love year of 1967.

In any case, times and tastes have changed but people and emotions haven’t, and The Best of Everything is a nostalgic, tasty slab of angel food cake with scoop of ice cream topping served with warm milk chaser, scrumptiously delicious in its plushy, easy to digest beauty, but even a little nourishing in spite of itself, best viewed with a hanky or two nearby.

[1] Actually I prefer the dreamy, piano dominated theme associated with the Suzy Parker character to the brought-back-one-time-too-many main title tune.

Further reading:

Jacobs, Laura. “The Lipstick Jungle.” Vanity Fair, March 2004.
Negulesco, Jean. Things I Did and Things I Think I Did. New York: Linden Press/Simon & Schuster, 1984.

Bettie Page Reveals All (2012)

Bettie Page Reveals All. Single Spark Pictures. 101 minutes. [2012]. Color and b&w. Mark Mori, director; Doug Miller, writer. With: Hugh Hefner, Dita Von Teese, Rebecca Romijn, Paula Claw, Tempest Storm. Narrated by Bettie Page.
Summary: An intimate look at one of the world's most recognized sex symbols, told in her own words for the first time. From an impoverished Southern family to scandalous '50s pin-up model, to shocking retirement in 1957 at the peak of her modeling career. With an array of gorgeous photographs, unusual archival material, and movie footage.
Bonus features: Restored Irving Klaw Wiggle movies starring Bettie; The early years of Bettie Page; Deleted scenes & bonus footage; Phone call with Bettie and Paula Klaw; Bettie's funeral video; Photo gallery of never-before-seen Bettie pics.

style ***     substance ***1/2


The documentary Bettie Page Reveals All is a loving biographical tribute to one of American pop culture’s most durable and recognizable sex symbols. What’s most remarkable about Reveals All is that it’s in a sense an authorized biography as Bettie's husky-voiced narration overlays much of the film, giving us invaluable insight into the woman in all her shadings of innocence, worldliness and intense spirituality.

Bettie disappeared from public life in 1957 more or less at the height of her modeling career, and languished in obscurity, semi-poverty and mental illness for over a quarter century. She was both thrilled and mystified at her resurgence in popularity in the 1990s. As is mentioned in the film she had a sense about when not to appear; even as she was a huge star again she became camera shy and made few public appearances, preferring her fans remember her when she was young and photogenic.
It’s difficult to think of a film star or other pop culture figure who achieved a comparable legendary status based on work created in such a short period of time. Only James Dean comes to mind, and curiously his peak years in the mid-1950s almost match Bettie’s perfectly [1].

It’s a tribute to filmmaker Mori that he treats the subject matter with dignity and respect: even with all the spicy photos that pepper the presentation there’s no sense that Mori is exploiting his subject. The controversial - for its time - content is never presented in sensationalist or lurid manner. Mori is also to be commended for giving full due Bettie’s Christian faith, which she speaks of, though never heavy-handedly. Ultimately by the film’s end we like and admire Bettie even more. Indeed it’s a measure of her mainstream respectability that one of her more unlikely admirers was the Rev. Robert Schuller, who appears in a clip from the film and conducted her memorial service.

But the more basic question is: what is there about Bettie Page that gives her such wide appeal today? It’s not that there weren’t other pinup models around in the 1950s. The answer must be her wholesome glamour and naturalness, along with a total lack of pretentiousness in the photos and the woman herself.
Another key ingredient is that Bettie was from a rural background (more or less); she grew up in Nashville, Tennessee and essentially retained a down home quality and outdoorsy athleticism all her life, and somehow this comes through in the photos. Thus so many scenes of her romping on the beach, frolicking in the water, or in the forest, or surrounded by wild animals, in sharp contrast to the illicit, urban sexuality that dominated the pin-ups and girlie magazines of the era.

Yet for all her exuberant self-expression and ostensible spontaneity, Bettie played for the camera brilliantly with the instincts of a true actress [2]. It’s just that she never seems to be posing, at least not in any self-conscious sense. And not surprisingly pin-up photographers preferred her over all other models. Adding to the mix is the sense that she’s enjoying herself. Bettie seems to be telling us that physicality in general and sexuality in particular is normal, healthy, and most of all fun, and often funny.

Even in her notorious bondage flicks there’s never any sense of real danger or physical pain, but rather always a wink and a nod, letting us know it’s all in good fun. Ironically it was these films in particular that outraged the morality police in the ever-repressed 1950s and inspired the infamous raids and subsequent congressional investigations.

It’s perhaps only fitting then that Reveals All, despite its virtues, has a certain clunkiness in execution. So be it. This might even be an unintended compliment and indirect reference to Bettie and her gloriously subversive, no-frills art. Much of the charm of her oeuvre was that Bettie’s creative universe was more seat-of-the-pants than that of the era’s other sex goddesses & pin-up queens - Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, and Ava Gardner - who had the full powers (i.e. money) of the film industry behind them.

In their very primitiveness there’s something very lean & basic about the photos – what you see is what you get, and Bettie is always a revelation, an explosion of exuberance and the full joy of life, nothing phony or over refined. She was who she was, and in this she never waivered. As one of her photographers so aptly put it: "She projected. She came right out at you." That she did.

See also: Ella Taylor, A Side of Bettie you’ve (somehow) never seen; Gaby Wood, A dominatrix laid bare. Then there’s The Notorious Bettie Page (2005), the feature film biography of which Bettie famously disapproved.

[1] The brief career - and subsequent resurgence in popularity decades later - of Fifties horror hostess Vampira might rate a strong honorable mention.

[2] With no disrespect to the main feature, the real hidden gem of the Reveals All DVD is the generous helping of bonus features. Especially noteworthy are the vintage short movies Bettie made under the supervision of producer Irving Klaw. This is Bettie at her devastating mid-1950s peak, very much in her element as she gyrates, undulates and dances her way through these rough-around-the-edges shorts. Bettie obviously loved the camera and the camera loved her back: skimpily clad in her trademark black undergarments and four-inch stiletto heels, she exudes the same charisma as in her stills, and what's more proves herself to be quite the athlete, and quite a dancer (apparently she loved dancing). Some of her movements even suggest the acrobat or gymnast. In one number she brandishes dominatrix whip. 
   We can only sigh at our loss that Bettie Page never made a feature-length motion picture. How could the film industry have missed her? Beautiful and photogenic to the nth degree, and knowing all the tricks of the trade in posing and mugging for the camera, she would for all the world have been can't-miss material for the movies. Big however - would her magic have translated to the big screen? Would her Southern accent, so charming and affable as she narrates Reveals All, have been a help, or hindrance? Alas, we'll never know the answer to these questions, since at the height of her powers she disappeared from public life for a quarter century.