Whatever happened to those witty gals who weren't just verbose, but smart and even dangerous -- and knew something about love and life?
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"Outspoken women," if you don't mind me saying so, is a term that speaks to the wounded feelings of men who never quite grew up or got over the first time a woman told them "No," "Nuts" or "Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night." Yes, that's Bette Davis as Margo Channing in the classic All About Eve, one of those happy movies in which most of the characters speak as if they'd actually been to school and read a few books when the bed was otherwise empty--or full with some tired male. Released in 1950, it arrived close to the end of that thrilling 20-year period when the best American films revolved around all the things smart and un-self-pitying that women were inclined to say.
In other words, "outspoken women" are not just women who have started saying too much. No, they're the ones who have woken up to the way men break out in fits when one of the "fair sex" starts explaining the facts (or the secrets) of life. For there is a kind of man for whom anything more challenging than "Yes, Master!" from a female rates as outspoken. In silent pictures, women either screamed or sighed, depending on whether they were on the receiving end of a loathsome scoundrel or a wonderful gentleman. Beyond that, their sole duty was to look pretty and be the object of desire. They had no real place in society other than to be photographed, adored, pursued, undressed, raped or kissed fondly. It was a dog's life. And while men got their kicks when the talkies made it big--they could snarl and say things like "You dirty rat!"--women got so much more, including the rare chance to occupy the central seat of intelligence. Yes, there was a moment in American films--and even in American life--when intelligence was valued more than money, looks, celebrity and shopping. (I'll say as little more about it as possible, for fear of disturbing you.)
The films that really gave women voice were not Westerns or adventure, crime or horror pictures-- screaming, shouting and "Yep" tended to rule the day there, as they do today. But it was in the genre known as comedy--or, more precisely, comedies of words and situation (invariably marital or sexual--not always quite the same thing). Romantic comedies, screwball comedies or those apparent action films or thrillers such as Howard Hawks made that are actually comedies--comedy noirs, if you like that term.
Mae West was an important maternal figure in this line. In the years between sound and the first ghastly reactions of censorship, West--who was a great deal too much woman for most men--had a terrific line in teasing banter for pretty boys. Things like, "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" or even the world-famous, "Why don't you come up and see me some time?"
The trick to her talk was not just the verbal wit (and she wrote most of those lines herself) but the ease with which she had become the sexual aggressor in small talk. She acted on the intuition that men (poor babies) were often shy and tongue-tied, whereas women were steeped in the language of flirting, teasing and provoking. She had some good company: Cary Grant's was one of the lewd faces who knew exactly what she meant and intended. But West's novelty also depended on making pompous men blush, look away or steam with outrage that a woman should be so...forward! Marlene Dietrich had a lot of the same insolent confidence: It's there in Morocco in the way (dressed in a tuxedo as she sings at a cafe) she considers the matter-- and then kisses a young girl in the audience. Nothing is said? I think plenty is said with a wit and brevity that makes today's films seem rather ponderous.
That Dietrich attitude runs down into film noir as well as comedy--but that only shows what a fine line there is between the way Barbara Stanwyck needles Fred MacMurray in Double Indemnity and Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve. Sure, she's a tramp in the former and only a confidence trickster in the latter. She'll die in one while serving as a model of romantic maturity in the other. But it's the same dame.
And there's the real point, I think. When women talked well in movies, it was as a sign of their greater emotional experience and insight. In their best films, they were always steering their foolish men towards the light (as if they were slightly drunk). They were characters who still light up the screen and seem utterly modern. As well as those mentioned already, I mean Claudette Colbert (It Happened One Night or Midnight); Irene Dunne (The Awful Truth); Carole Lombard (My Man Godfrey, Swing High, Swing Low or Twentieth Century); Margaret Sullavan (The Shop Around the Corner); Rosalind Russell (His Girl Friday); and Katharine Hepburn in just about everything she did.
Of course, on many occasions, those women had a few men at least who could keep up--so you would get the superb dueling matches that are The Awful Truth and His Girl Friday. But I stick to my point that that repartee was radical and dangerous. It alarmed a lot of people in the audiences, especially those who guessed that women might have an inside track on feelings--but men wanted to own those tricky things, if only to cover up their own insecurities. Conversations now are seldom as brisk--or as touching. If you doubt that, go back to Bogart and Bacall in To Have and Have Not and The Big Sleep, in love with each other to be sure, but both of them crazy about talk.
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