The Miracle Woman

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02/15/2012 4:00 AM |

In looking so comprehensively at Stanwyck’s acting you’re also spending a lot of time with her scene partners, Golden Age contract players filling out the movies, and so on. In some cases—like when she acts opposite Robert Ryan in Clash By Night—I know it must have been one of the anticipated pleasures of taking on a project like this. But who surprised you, for better or for worse? Stars that rose or fell in your estimation, and lesser-known figures who piqued your interest?
Over the course of 80 or so movies, you do get to know and love and sometimes loathe a lot of people. It’s always fun to see performers like ZaSu Pitts reappear from film to film. Helen Broderick is just a scream in a minor comedy called The Bride Walks Out (1936). I loved seeing the vibrant Theresa Harris as Stanwyck’s best friend in Baby Face (1933) and then was saddened Post-Code when Harris was segregated away from her in Banjo on My Knee (1936). And Walter Connelly is quite impressive as a kind of court cynic in one of her greatest films, The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1933). But many of her leading men are interchangeable. In her best early films for Frank Capra, Stanwyck often had very weak scene partners, like Ralph Graves in Ladies of Leisure and David Manners in The Miracle Woman, so that she has to create everything herself, or let’s say that Capra is really her scene partner in those films. In later worthy movies like The File on Thelma Jordan (1949) and No Man of Her Own (1950), she’s stuck with Wendell Corey and John Lund, and so she has to create all by herself again, and she’s more than capable of it. She played opposite George Brent several times, and she might as well have been playing with a coat rack. I never liked Stanwyck’s second husband Robert Taylor on screen, and researching their marriage and watching her three films with him again did nothing to change that. He’s just a source of irritation to me, like a pebble in your shoe. So the mano-a-mano scenes with Ryan in Clash by Night are so impressive after all of these ineffectual men because here at last we have giant meeting giant.

A word should be said for the grabby Irish magnificence of Alan Hale as the drunk Ed Munn in Stella Dallas. Stanwyck does some of her very best work with Hale in that endlessly intriguing film. She certainly had a special chemistry with Henry Fonda, but I was struck by the fact that Stanwyck made three of her best films opposite Fred MacMurray, who never gets written up as a major actor like Fonda does, but with Stanwyck, he’s as major as you can get, especially in their last film, which is really his vehicle, Douglas Sirk’s There’s Always Tomorrow (1956). The self-contempt he projects in that movie and Double Indemnity is indelible, as is the more humane work he does in Remember the Night. And watching her match wits with both Walter Huston and Judith Anderson in The Furies is such a joy because she knows that they’re in some ways overshadowing her in their scenes together, and she just seems to be enjoying that fact. She was usually generous when it came to other actors. Frankly, though, in so many of her films, Stanwyck is the main event, and even very skilled players like Van Heflin almost disappear next to her.

For each major decade of Stanwyck’s Hollywood career—the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s—what’s the one movie role you wish she had played instead of whoever did?

I would love to see what Stanwyck might have done with Jean Arthur’s part in Howard Hawks’s Only Angels Have Wings (1939). That’s a masterpiece as it stands, and I love Arthur, but she’s clearly uncomfortable in the role some of the time (which sometimes works in the film’s favor and sometimes doesn’t) and with Stanwyck it would be much more coherent, and much, much tougher. Let’s take ever-competent Loretta Young out of The Stranger (1946) and see how Stanwyck would function acting with and being directed by Orson Welles. She covered practically all of the auteur bases, but she never worked for Hitchcock, so let’s remove breathy Anne Baxter and install Stanwyck into I Confess (1953), where she can confess to a love affair and recreate it with Montgomery Clift. Wearing blonde hair always brings out Stanwyck’s most ruthless side on screen, so I’d love to see how that would work up against Hitchcock’s 
blond obsession.

You take care to discuss every single feature film in which Stanwyck appeared (as well as her TV credits). What avenues did you have to use to track everything down? What were the hardest things to find?

I had many of these films on tape from when I was a kid and I transferred them to DVD. For the really tough ones, like her disastrous second movie, Mexicali Rose (1929), John Ford’s beautiful and neglected The Plough and the Stars (1936) and Andr√© De Toth’s elusive The Other Love (1947), I bought them on eBay. On YouTube, I saw Stanwyck’s first two 70s TV movies, The House That Would Not Die (1970) and A Taste of Evil (1971) and the Stanwyck episodes of The Colbys (the credit sequence for that show is hilarious), and that’s also how I saw the impossible-to-find Always Goodbye (1938), which vanished right after I watched it. I got the ultra-rare and very offensive Red Salute (1935) as an ancient videotape from the New York Public Library. I think Barbara Stanwyck should just have her own channel that plays her films from The Locked Door (1929) to The Night Walker (1964) on a continuous loop. She made at least 20 films that are masterpieces or close to it, and at least another dozen or more that are of real interest. It’s just an unprecedented body of work because the films around her are often so strong, so unusual, so special. As far as great directors go, she really covered the waterfront. The fact that she was also one of the greatest of all performers makes watching all her films just the ultimate aesthetic cinephile treat.

3 Comment

  • Wow! This book sounds great–Stanwyck is one of my favorites from that era, and I love movies from the 30s and 40s in general. Everything about them was better, but especially the way roles for women were written. Modern “rom coms” just seem so insipid compared to The Lady Eve or Woman of the Year.

    I haven’t heard of a lot of these movies, and I just hope I can find them somewhere–even Netflix has a very limited selection of old movies. (And I wish movie theaters showed them more often. I saw Bringing Up Baby–my favorite screwball comedy–on the big screen a couple years ago and it was such a treat! It was wonderful to watch it after all these years with an audience!)

  • I am reading this wonderful book right now and it is torture: how can I slow it down to last forever when I am simply dying to get to my favorites and see if Dan sees what I do? As to a film for which I would like to switch out the existing star to see what Miss Stanwyck could do, I offer “Five Graves to Cairo.” Anne Baxter does a very good job as Mouche, and I’m not at all sure that Stanwyck could master the accent, but when I think of what she could have brought to the character — oh, my! And I would have loved to see her reaction when Eric von Stroheim would have waved her back with that damn whisk!

  • One of the great casualties of the rise (and now fall) of the video store was the death of the revival house. When I first moved to NYC’s Upper West Side 40 years ago there were at least seven of these wonderful venues, and on any given day I could enter, pay my fee and see the likes of Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich or Barbara Stanwyck, 20 feet high and glowing. Ever since then it has been my firm belief that movies were made to be seen in the dark with 400 strangers. And especially this is true of comedies. How can seeing a comedy in one’s living room, even with a group of friends, compare to the kind of shared, infectious laughter that audience in Preston Sturges’ “Sullivan’s Travels” experienced?