Showing posts with label Jennifer Jason Leigh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jennifer Jason Leigh. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

love nineteenth century american-style

I've been on a Jennifer Jason Leigh kick lately. I recently watched Washington Square, based on the short novel by Henry James. I had been on a Henry James novel-reading kick a few years ago (I go on a lot of kicks), but hadn't gotten around to reading Washington Square. Luckily Google Books has a free download, so I could skim a few important scenes to see how the film's interpretation compared to the original text. I'll be reading it in it's entirety later, I'm sure, probably on the iPad. Ah, modernity.

Modernity is an element absent from the novel, which is strictly Victorian—American-style, in its telling of the ill-fated romance of New Yorkers Catherine Sloper and Morris Townsend. The filmmaker Agnieszka Holland has, without greatly altering the original novel's text, allowed her heroine to become a nascent feminist by the story's conclusion. The film is a more faithful rendition than the B&W movie The Heiress, which starred Olivia de Haviland and Montgomery Clift that I caught on late-night t.v. many years ago. The Heiress, based on a stage play version of Washington Square, is also a great film. The two versions are different enough to be enjoyed differently. The Heiress plays at times like a mystery, with Clift's motives more ambiguous, and de Havilland's Catherine a harder character than Leigh's, exacting revenge on Clift at the end:
Catherine Sloper: He's grown greedier over the years. Before he only wanted my money; now he wants my love as well. Well, he came to the wrong house—and he came twice. I shall see that he does not come a third time.
The [playwrights were] asked to make Morris less of a villain than he was in their play and the original novel in deference to the studio's desire to capitalize on Montgomery Clift's reputation as a romantic leading man.—Wikipedia
Olivia de Havilland and Montgomery Clift, from TCM

The essence of the plot—and be warned, I'm pretty much giving it all away here—is that a young woman, heiress to her father's substantial fortune, is pursued by a very handsome young man who has no money of his own. Her father suspects that he is a gold digger and tries to prevent the match, threatening to disinherit his daughter. The young man eventually breaks it off, presumably because the girl, although still rich, will not be filthy rich. Years later, after the father has died, he comes to reconcile with her, but she sends him packing. Depending on how you read the scene, in book and both films, you can interpret Morris's intentions towards Catherine as purely mercenary, or maybe not always. The story is basically an actor's paradise, as it is full of opportunities to play both repressed and exuberant emotions.

In Washington Square Jennifer Jason Leigh's Catherine Sloper is practically housebound. In an early scene she is a bird in a cage, as she sits by the window watching the world go by, waiting each day for her father, an eminent doctor, played by Albert Finney, to return from work. Dr. Sloper still mourns his wife who died having his only daughter. If he possessed the imagination to view his daughter as a bird, she would be a dull common sparrow in his eyes. He is a man who doesn't really care for his only child much, who is embarrassed by her awkward physicality and over-affectionate nature. He is also, at times, an utter shit to her.

The film has some nice visual touches. The Sloper's house is beautiful—full of polished surfaces and gleaming objects—but it's just an address, with no soul, no love inside. Catherine's love of music, her desire to perform but accompanied by her horrible stage fright—hint at suppressed passion yearning for an opportunity, an outlet. She is inexpertly watched and taught during the day by her aunt and companion, Lavinia Penniman, played brilliantly by Maggie Smith. Ignored by her father and other relatives she is just aching for someone to teach her a bit about life. Enter Morris Townsend.





Both women fall almost immediately in love with Morris, played by Ben Chaplin, with tousled hair and sensual mouth. It's easy to see why Catherine literally goes weak in the knees in his presence, before, during and after he kisses her. The poor girl never had a chance. Ah, but men can be such a disappointment sometimes. Both Morris and her father let her down. Morris may break her heart by not wanting to marry a merely rich girl, but it is her father who treats her most cruelly. He does everything in his power to end her relationship, never taking a moment to sympathize or try to understand how deeply her feeling go, how torn she is between her new-found feelings of passion and her love and loyalty towards her father. He is insulting about her attributes to anyone who will listen.





What sort of father tells people that no one will ever be in love with his daughter? It is actually her father's callous treatment which sends Catherine on her first steps away from him and towards independence, from any man's telling her how to lead her life. It is so ironic, her father trying to convince her how awful it would be for Catherine to marry a man who didn't love her—she had spent her life up to that point with a man who didn't love her ... There is an amazing confrontation between Leigh and Finney on an alp in Europe, with Catherine's scarf blowing away along with all of her illusions about her father's love for her. When she finally accepts how her father thinks and feels about her, Catherine resolves to do as she pleases and marry Morris.

Jennifer Jason Leigh and Albert Finney, from cinema.de

Unfortunately for Catherine, Morris is not eager to elope. When she realizes that Morris won't be happy without her father's approval and all its accompanying wealth, she is finally able to make a life for herself. Some might interpret that by turning down some other very decent marriage proposals that come her way shows that she is still carrying a torch for Morris. Possibly she has been so badly burned that she shies away from love. But I think that Catherine has chosen to do as she pleases with the money her mother left her. She is no longer dependent on her father, a posthumous jerk, who even tried to control her life beyond the grave by disinheriting her. If she had married Morris or any other man, she would have remained in the very similar subservient role that she played with her father, just with a new master. Dr. Sloper actually did her a back-handed favor, although that was certainly not his intention, by setting her free to make her own way in the world. Catherine is not a person to be pitied, because she realizes her father's brutality as an opportunity and goes forward. Jennifer Jason's Leigh's happiness in her new life, her evident comfort in her own skin, is lovely to see.

When Morris comes to visit her at the end of the film, abetted by her always meddling Aunt Lavinia,





The film adds an additional verbal confrontation:
Catherine Sloper: Say it!
Morris Townsend: Say what? That I wanted you with your money? Is that so immoral? Would you want me without my attributes? You have money, I have ... I have "this." It was a fair exchange.
It was impossible for me, hearing Morris's words to not see his point. I also couldn't help but think of another film's penultimate bit of dialogue spoken by Marilyn Monroe's Lorelei Lee, from one of my favorite movies, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes:
Lorelei Lee: Don't you know that a man being rich is like a girl being pretty? You wouldn't marry a girl just because she's pretty, but my goodness, doesn't it help?
You could almost look at Gentlemen Prefer Blondes as Washington Square from the other side, from gold digger Morris's angle:
Esmond Sr.: Have you got the nerve to tell me you don't want to marry my son for his money?
Lorelei Lee: It's true.
Esmond Sr.: Then what do you want to marry him for?
Lorelei Lee: I want to marry him for YOUR money.
It is abundantly clear at the end of Washington Square that Catherine is not just content (as in the book), but happy with her life. Whether Morris or Aunt Lavinia will ever understand how that could be possible we shall never know. But it's also impossible not to wonder what would have happened if Catherine had gone ahead and married Morris. Was Morris really "wronging" her in any way? She experienced romance and passion with him. She knew what she brought to the table as much as what she wanted from Morris. Marriage, then and now, after all is first and foremost a contract.

The only person who seems to have devalued Catherine and done her a great injustice was her father. Not for being "right" about Morris, but for thinking his daughter too stupid to understand who Morris truly was and still want him. For using his money as a threat to his daughter and an enticement to her suitor. For trying to control her life and not letting her experience love and the inevitable pain that always accompanies it on her own. As Catherine's other aunt Elizabeth points out to Dr. Sloper, why shouldn't Morris make a good husband? How can he know they won't be happy? Not to mention that the not-so-good doctor had no money when he married Catherine's mother—she was the heiress then.

Life's little tragedies are full of such hypocrisies.

Washington Square, from Google Books
Quotes from imdb, Washington Square, The Heiress and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
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Thursday, December 09, 2010

you can lead a horticulture but you can't make her think

I watched Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle the other night and was utterly fascinated, as much by Jennifer Jason Leigh's very particular vocal phrasings as I was by the story of my new heroine, Dorothy Parker, and her famous friends.



The Algonquin Round Table in caricature by Al Hirschfeld. Seated at the table, clockwise from left: Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley, Alexander Woollcott, Heywood Broun, Marc Connelly, Franklin P. Adams, Edna Ferber, George S. Kaufman, Robert Sherwood. In back from left to right: frequent Algonquin guests Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt, Vanity Fair editor Frank Crowninshield and Frank Case.

The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.

 I've recently been reading The Feminine Mystique. Betty Friedan begins her argument about what the hell happened to American women and their needs and desires in the 50s and 60s with this theory: before the Second World War women in this country, especially after they got the vote, were freer and more able and willing to be career women, to be what their mothers before them could not. They had to step up to the bread-winning plate during and after the First World War, when so many men were absent or lost. It was the men returning from the Second World War dreaming of a cozy hearth and home in the 40s and 50s who used women's magazines as the medium to get the women back into the kitchens. I'm not sure yet if I completely accept her hypothesis, as I'm still mid-read, but watching Leigh as Parker navigate her way through a "man's world" in 1920s New York City did at times echo  this view.

Tell him I was too fucking busy—or vice versa.



Portrait of Art Samuels, Charlie MacArthur, Harpo Marx, Dorothy Parker and Alexander Woollcott, ca. 1919.

Dorothy Parker wrote poems from an early age, submitted them to magazines to be published, and managed to get a job with Conde Nast. She was first steered towards the more "female" publication, Vogue. She eventually became the theater critic at another Conde Nast publication, Vanity Fair, taking the post once held by P.G. Wodehouse, where she honed her trademark wit. And did she ever hone it, sharp as a knife. One of her most famous barbs was a review of Katherine Hepburn's performance in a now-forgotten play, The Lake in 1934:

She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B.

Parker's sometimes caustic reviews eventually got her fired from Vanity Fair, which didn't want to offend powerful Broadway producers. Her opinions may have temporarily been stifled, but she had formed some fiercely loyal friends in co-workers Robert Benchley and Robert Sherwood, who also resigned in protest and solidarity with Parker. Jobless, they still continued their daily luncheon ritual at The Algonquin, which attracted more and more of their friends and literary contemporaries. This not-so-motley crew were instrumental in the forming of The New Yorker, and became known as the Algonquin Round Table. The movie is like a who's who of the smartest smart-alecks of the early twentieth century, played by an amalgam of the sons and daughters of Hollywood actors, and New York character actors: Campbell Scott, Matthew Broderick, Andrew McCarthy, Wallace Shawn, Sam Robards, Lili Taylor, Gwyneth Paltrow, Nick Cassavetes, Stanley Tucci.

Imagine becoming famous for being smart. Who can we say that of today's crop of fashionable celebrities? So many phrases that are in the popular lexicon can be traced to the witty Parker, who always managed to blend her wit with a dose of misery.

Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.

Parker and her friends were a tight group. They lived, loved and drank—a lot—together. They were at the height of their powers and their youth during Prohibition, and the movie shows how much a role bathtub gin, speakeasies, and other substances were a part of their lives.

I like to have a martini,
Two at the very most.
After three I'm under the table,
after four I'm under my host.

Parker fell in love with Charles McArthur, who took their love affair far less seriously than she did. It resulted in an abortion and a broken heart. Matthew Broderick is actually quite sexy in the role, and believably seduces the only slightly resistant Parker, who may or may not also have had unresolved feelings for her long-term pal Benchley, nicely played by Campbell Scott. Broderick manages to remain sympathetic while simultaneously being, as Parker might characterize him, an utter shit.

It serves me right for putting all my eggs in one bastard.

Like another biopic I watched recently set in the same era, Coco Before Chanel, the relationships and intertwining lives of these people were beyond complicated. Have we become steadily more and more conservative since the 20s?

Heterosexuality is not normal, it's just common.

It is clear that Parker was most definitely damaged by the busted affair with McArthur, as she tried to take her own life, but it is also apparent that she consciously delved into her pain for her art. She was a very self-aware woman.



Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Parker and her vicious circle did everything together. They took vacations together, worked together. In the 30s Parker went out to Hollywood, as did Sherwood and Benchley. A typical New Yorker, Parker disdained Hollywood and its environs, but not the cash that accompanied her screenwriting projects. She contributed to some very successful movies, including the 1937 A Star is Born, Saboteur and The Little Foxes.

If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.



Jennifer Jason Leigh gives an uncanny and poignant interpretation as Parker.
Parker was very vocal about human rights, and was placed on the Hollywood blacklist, which led to her return to New York in the 1950s. Leigh recites bits of Parker's poetry throughout the film, in a progressively alcoholic slur. Her vocals sound at first affected, but after hearing Parker's own recitations of her poetry it is clear that the actress did her homework.

If I didn't care for fun and such,
I'd probably amount to much.
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.

There is a nice little documentary attached to the DVD, which helps underscore as well as showcase how accurate a portrayal it is of Parker's life. The one question it didn't answer, apart from acknowledging her political sympathies, was why Parker left her estate to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Foundation at her death in 1967. The estate went to the NAACP after his death the following year. Unfortunately, Parker's friends were not so steadfast at the end. Lillian Hellman, who was the executrix of her will, contested her final wishes, and Parker's ashes were shuttled from one place to another until the NAACP was finally able to inter them in Baltimore in 1988.

Time doth flit; oh shit.

Dorothy Parker was smart, verbally athletic—a sassy broad.  She was the opposite of politically correct. If attitudes cycle round again, I hope that we are in for a nouveau 20s, without all the alcoholism. Blogs and the internet give many the opportunity to speak their mind. Unfortunately, most don't understand that snark doesn't equal wit. Through blogs and other writing there is a real chance to get one's voice and opinion heard. More and more women could stand to speak their minds, creatively, a la Dorothy Parker.

Quotes from Goodreads

I was syndicated on BlogHer.com

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