Original Sins

by Kim Krizan

  But all things must pass. One day Prince Albert is said to have told Lillie, “I’ve spent enough on you to sink a battleship.”

  Lillie, guiltless, volleyed: “And you’ve spent enough in me to float one.”

  Thankfully, the relationship petered out. Having conquered and set herself up for life, Lillie Langtry had a grand old time traveling the world, giving glamorous appearances, and giving birth to the requisite illegitimate child. In later life, while commiserating with a friend whose husband had died, she wrote, “I too have lost a husband, but alas! it was no great loss.”

  She’s a Twentieth Century Fox

  The century that began by idealizing the blossoming virgin with her cameo-ready face and her unassailable purity saw fit to counterpose her with her shadow: the mysterious, vixen-y exotic who reveled in her sexual experience and power over men. These two gladiators of society were pitted against one another from the first, but there were insidious elements now at work in favor of the femme fatale.

  For one, World War I came along and, because munitions factories needed steel for the purpose of killing people, women were forced to give up using it in their corsets (which, they had been told in previous centuries, were necessary to hold their weak spines upright). As a result, women suddenly faced the world free as birds with their spines flopping about their new Poiret and Fortuny gowns. Another cute notion now in play was that fashion dictated every schoolgirl worth her salt give spying and/or striptease a whirl. But the real force, the dynamite that got the logjam of Fatalism moving again, was the advent of the motion picture.

  It didn’t take long for the femme fatale to dig her claws into the celluloid of the movies. “Les Vampires,” one of the very first great femme fatale flicks, starred Musidora as treacherous vampire Irma Vep in 1915, but it was Theda Bara who really made the femme fatale a cornerstone of Hollywood entertainment. Here are the titles of some of her films: “The Stain,” “Siren from Hell,” “A Fool There Was,” “The Devil’s Daughter,” “Sin,” “Destruction,” “The Eternal Sappho,” “Her Double Life,” “The Tiger Woman,” “When a Woman Sins,” and “The Forbidden Path.” Which is more intriguing: “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm” or “Siren from Hell”? All hail Ms. Bara, the girl who lit the torch for the 20th century Fatale.

  The Vamps

  The concept of the “vamp” (the woman who preyed on hapless men, sucking the life force out of them and rendering them mere husks of their former selves) became popular in the Twenties when ladies brought Fatalism to the screen in the guise of morality tales condemning evil and sin. But instead of curbing sin, film ended up advertising it as the best thing ever.

  It was one thing that women finally won the right to vote in the U.S. in 1920. Soon after, long hair (which had always been a woman’s pride and glory) was lopped off. What could this mean—women tossing away their pride and glory like so much dross? Then (just like the prostitutes) women started smoking, shortened their skirts, and wore make-up, even going so far as to apply it in public. These “fast” women soon lured Western culture—not to mention quite a lot of Eastern culture—into taking a quick ride in a hand basket to sultry place called Hell.

  Vampish actresses such as Nazimova, Nita Naldi, Evelyn Brent, and even gamine Louise Brooks reigned supreme in society’s collective unconscious. Garbo was cast to play “bad vimin” in films such as “The Temptress,” while superlative “dragon ladies” such as Anna May Wong, the American-born daughter of a Chinese laundry-owner, slunk her way around the silents. (By the way, Wong’s family never forgave her for shaming them by working in “pictures.”)

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Convincing a Man Who Wishes to Kill Her to Turn His Gun on Himself

  Simple white gown in supple fabric

  with deep V-neckline and long sleeves.

  (As worn by Lulu, played by Louise Brooks in “Pandora’s Box.”)

  The Dirty Thirties

  The Thirties were the Golden Age of Hollywood when the naughty pixies and twisted exotics of the previous decade grew up and became sophisticated, perversely decadent women. No less than Marlene Dietrich ruled the kingdom with an iron compact, while Tallulah Bankhead, Mae West, Hedy Lamarr, Garbo (in “Mata Hari”), Joan Crawford (primarily in “The Women”), and Bette Davis (especially in “Of Human Bondage” and “Jezebel”) all served as soldiers in the femme fatale army.

  But it was real life siren Wallis Simpson who really capped off the decade. She was the married and rather average-looking American woman in her thirties to whom England’s most eligible bachelor, Prince Edward VIII, fell so in love he abdicated his royal throne. It was a deliciously perverse twist on the Cinderella and Prince Charming tale, one in which the lucky lady pulled her man right off his pedestal.

  The prince’s parents, the King and Queen of England, had been gunning for their wayward boy (who was in his thirties and still unmarried) to get on with it and choose an appropriate girl—namely, an English virgin of aristocratic background—and start churning out royal babies, or at least an heir and a “spare.” Instead, Edward saw fit to party every night, taking particular enjoyment in the company of married ladies. One night he met Mrs. Wallis Simpson and the penny dropped. (Wallis was rumored to have entranced the Prince of Wales with secret love techniques she had learned while living in China. What else does a woman do while living in the Orient but learn secret love techniques?)

  The truth may have been that Wallis was in fact not maneuvering for marriage with the King-to-be but was simply enjoying a little fun, only to be blind-sided by the Prince’s intractable ardor. Instead of Oriental love techniques, she most likely provided him with the mothering he’d never received from the icy-cold queen. Whatever the case, Wallis’ effect on Edward was such that, when informed that he simply could not marry a divorced American woman and go on to become king, Edward called the British establishment’s bluff and said “thanks, but no thanks” to the job for which he’d been trained since birth. And by inadvertently causing Prince Edward to give up his throne, Wallis Simpson threw the British monarchy into a crisis the likes of which it hadn’t seen for centuries, thereby incurring the wrath of an entire country. Bloody good show, Wally! England never forgave her. Thus, a middle-aged, divorced American lady became one of history’s most powerfully mysterious Fatales, making the way for another femme (Prince Edward’s niece Elizabeth) to become queen within a couple decades.

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Stealing a King from His Country

  Bias-cut silk crepe dress in sapphire blue with high neck and heart-shaped

  seam below the bust. Matching blue “halo” hat,

  Art Deco clips of sapphires and diamonds at the neckline,

  buckle bracelet and diamond chain with crosses bracelet.

  Pale blue suede shoes.

  (As worn by Wallis Simpson on the occasion

  of her marriage to the former King Edward the VIII.)

  The 1940s: All Noir All the Time

  The 1940s were another bright Halcyon period for the femme fatale and this decade’s bad ladies were an especially deadly lot. Instead of being swathed in feathers, furs, jewels, and otherworldly lighting the way the 1930s’ seductresses had been, the Fatales of the 1940s appeared to be real and normal girls-next-door who were approachable and available. Just like in the Garden of Eden, these women had no trouble duping and outwitting men, metamorphosing before their eyes from cozy helpmates and benign sidekicks into beings dangerous and deadly. Hitler and Mussolini and Stalin and Hirohito may have been evil dictators, but Hollywood saw fit to direct the world’s attention to a far greater evil: the female sex. Their playground was the bleak, shadowy urban environ of a society corrupted by greed and violence. Their essential message: “Baby, you are so screwed, you are a hair’s breadth away from total moral defeat.” And so while World War II raged and thousands of wholesome young men sacrificed their lives for their countries, the mice were playing.

>   Patrician Mary Astor effectively cornered the bad girl market by disguising herself, at least temporarily, as a distraught lady in search of her sister in “The Maltese Falcon,” while the usually wholesome Barbara Stanwyck rocked “Double Indemnity” as the deliciously duplicitous Phyllis Dietrichson. Joan Crawford and Bette Davis held down the femme fatale fort, while Jane Greer really kept the fires of Fatalism burning—even going so far as to dump Robert Mitchum in her role as sly Kathie in “Out of the Past.” Jean Gillie was perfectly duplicitous in “Decoy” while Yvonne De Carlo slunk around in a disillusioned noir funk in “Criss Cross.” And Ann Savage made Tom Neal’s life an absolute livin’ hell in “Detour.”

  But it was Lana, Rita, Ava, and Veronica (plus any other woman whose name ended in a soft letter “a”) who dominated the 1940s, showing as little mercy as possible for the sad dupes who crossed their paths because they had shown so little mercy for her. Take Lana Turner’s Cora from “The Postman Always Rings Twice.” Dear, blonde, baby-voiced Cora is a serious platinum dish, but she’s married to a schlubby old guy who has her doing dishes in his roadside diner. Cora knows she’s destined for bigger and better things. Does she have any other choice but to have the diner’s hot new fix-it man off her husband?

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Feeling Disillusioned with Her Life While Washing

  Dishes in Her Husband’s Roadside Diner

  White shirtdress, apron, white turban.

  (As worn by Cora, played by Lana Turner

  in “The Postman Always Rings Twice.”)

  Atomic Winter in Bombshell’s Clothing

  The 1950s (a period when the world was trying to get back to the business of making babies) were not the Fatale’s finest hour. Women were safe, suburban, innocent as children, their power and sexuality reduced to a joke—in short, probably what God had in mind when He created Eve. Popular culture managed to eclipse the Fatale with feather-light infant-women as evidenced by the ideals of one the decade’s new magazines, Playboy: harmlessly sexy little girls next door who were guileless, playful, unthreatening, and born to please. To protect herself the femme fatale went underground, appearing in disguise (if she appeared at all). But in the end it was like the moon eclipsing the sun. The Fatale was only resting, gearing up for another romp over the hearts of good people everywhere.

  Bombshell Marilyn Monroe had her moment in the guise of “Niagara’s” Rose Loomis, a character who revealed Marilyn’s true Fatale potential. Instead of the breathy baby voice for which she became famous, Marilyn’s Rose spoke in low, knowing tones. Instead of the childish naiveté associated with her image, Marilyn’s Rose displayed cunning. Instead of catering to men, Marilyn saw to it that Rose’s dealings with the opposite sex were refreshingly mean and selfish. One can’t help but think that the rosy visage for which Marilyn Monroe is known was perhaps a disguise, that the girl was actually a spy sent from Fatale HQ into the battlefield that was the 1950s.

  Another notable exception to the rule of the ’50s was that of Mamie Van Doren, a big serving of platinum hot stuff who, as Gwen, tried to seduce her nephew in “High School Confidential!” and who, as Mamie, went on to write memoirs entitled My Naughty, Naughty Life, I Swing, and My Wild Love Experiences. One of the best stories about Ms. Van Doren, one that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the girl was a true Fatale sister, is that during a fight she drew blood (appropriately, her husband’s) by stabbing him in the head with her stiletto heel. Brava!

  But though the nearly-barren wilderness of this decade was otherwise almost bereft of great Fatales, from it emerged a brief period of femme fatale domination.

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Appearing to Help Investigate the Strange

  Disappearance of Her Husband

  Short tomato red jacket with one button, wide lapels,

  and wide three-quarter sleeves. White under-blouse. Black pencil skirt.

  Black strappy shoes with ankle straps.

  Small white purse. No jewelry.

  Extra points: A false air of worry.

  (As worn by Rose Loomis, played by Marilyn Monroe in “Niagara.”)

  She’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad Girl

  What better way to kick off the ’60s than for a broad to bring down an entire motion picture studio with her adulterous high living? Welcome to the wonderful world of Elizabeth Taylor’s “Cleopatra” for which La Liz demanded no less than one million cool ones. She also dumped the husband who had dumped cute little Debbie Reynolds for her, hooked up with a married man (in the form of co-star Richard Burton), drank like a fish, ate Italy out of fettuccine, had life-threatening illnesses, and allegedly made glamorous suicide attempts … and all the while creating one of the most extravagant femme fatale epics of all time. In short, Miss Taylor’s behavior single-handedly made up for the barren years that preceded the filming of “Cleopatra.”

  At the same time, Marilyn Monroe was doing her level best to destroy the very same studio by showing up late to work (if she showed up at all), refusing to obey direct orders from the studio heads, having affairs with politicians, singing to the aforementioned politicians in front of their wives and the public while wearing a nearly-transparent dress, dilly-dallying around with mafia types (even cheekily naming her dog “Maf”), and generally showing the powers that be who was boss. They tried firing her but—checkmate!—she went public with her sad story and won everybody’s sympathy. Finally the Hollywood boys swallowed their pride, tucked their tails between their legs, and rehired her. And what did their troublesome little goldmine do? She died. One can almost hear her laughing all the way to femme fatale heaven: “Hasta la vista, suckers!”

  Yes, the 1960s brought the Fatale back with a vengeance and she was in a mood for sport. Honey Ryder, Ursula Andress’ athletic Bond woman, tucked a knife into her bikini bottom when snorkeling in “Dr. No.” (She was counterpart and foil to the misogynist homme fatale James Bond, a rogue or “fatal man.”) The cat women of “Batman”—both Eartha Kitt and Julie Newmar—revealed an exciting new cross-species hybrid: the “feline fatale.” Angie Dickinson spent an early incarnation as a complex gun moll who two-timed Ronald Reagan in a re-make of “The Killers.” Finally, Mrs. Robinson totally corrupted her friends’ college graduate son (who was half her age and barely out of short pants). Why? Because she was bored.

  But the ’60s were also a time of struggle for Fatales when men upped the ante by playing a game that was a stroke of genius. In the guise of “liberation,” the “sexual revolution” constituted a terrific ruse for really icky men to claim the right to make “free” love with naive women, saying that if the women didn’t cooperate they were “repressed.” The actualized femme fatale knew the secret passwords: “Baby, it ain’t that I’m repressed. It’s that I don’t find you in the slightest bit appealing and if you try to touch me I’ll karate kick your head clean off your shoulders.” Unfortunately, not all women knew the passwords and a rough patch ensued when otherwise intelligent females did such daft things as throwing out their lipstick, wearing granny dresses, and hitting the road in run-down VW buses that had macrame potholders hanging off the rear-view mirrors. In short, the decade that had started with a bang ended in a kind of mini-Dark Age, but once the Fatale took off the granny dress and found her old eyeliner, she was back in business.

  Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion

  Spying a Mark at a Party

  Sparkly, sleeveless animal print dress over which flows a layer of long-sleeved chiffon.

  Undergarments should consist of leopard

  print bra and half-slip. Black pumps. Black fur coat.

  Hair is in a large up-do involving a “fall” on the back of the head while natural hair has been dramatically streaked.

  Jeweled earrings. Pale lipstick and dramatic eyeliner.

  A tan with strategic tan-lines.

  (As worn by Mrs. Robinson, played by Anne Bancroft in The Graduate.”)

  Man-Eat
ing Made Complicated

  The late ’60s and 1970s were marked by a gigantic explosion of anger evidenced by a slew of parades and protests across our great land. Parades and protests are not the Fatale Way, for revenge is a dish best served cold—and perhaps with the help of a. .38 or an ice pick. Fatale-style comeuppance rarely marches down the street holding a signboard announcing its deepest wishes. Did Cleopatra have an encounter session during which she tearfully shared with her sisters her desire for world domination? Did she have a sit-down protest in the street? Did Cleopatra form an organization or start a magazine to publicize how mean men are? Hell no. When Cleopatra wanted something she did it, taking the most direct and effective path. If other girls were waiting for the patriarchal powers of the ancient Mediterranean to acknowledge and legislate their rights and essential value, that was their goddamn problem. Cleopatra knew her rights and value and didn’t wait for the world’s approbation.

  This is where things got tricky for the Seventies Fatale, because feminists (then called “women’s libbers”) seemed confused as to whether they should embrace the femme fatale or repudiate her. They even went so far as to say the femme fatale was a male creation (imagine!) and condemned the use of such Fatale staples as hair bleach and slinky dresses as symbols of a woman’s subjection to the patriarchy. The femme fatale would’ve cried tears in her heart, but she’d learned long before that the motives of women are just as questionable as those of any man. In the end, the 1970s were littered with a rag-tag crew of confused females, scattered here and there with a few delightfully ball-busting bitches.

  Thank the pagan gods for Faye Dunaway, whose wonderfully cold Diana Christensen reminded the world what it is to be a man-eater in the film “Network.” First, it doesn’t hurt to be a mean boss lady, in Diana’s case in the powerful television news world. Second, having an illicit affair with her (married) male co-worker is one of those things that makes the world go ‘round. Third, a rad wardrobe doesn’t hurt one bit. Finally, cheering a man (in Faye’s case, the station’s own news anchor) to his public death (she had come up with the genius idea that he be “assassinated” on live television) can really seal a girl’s place in the Fatale sweepstakes. Watching civilization crumble before her eyes appeared to bring Diana Christensen to an almost orgasmic state, which is why she was one of the best things about the Seventies.