By Steve Saragossi & Erin Free
JANE FONDA: FIGHT THE POWER (pictured above)
“The image of Jane Fonda…Barbarella…Henry Fonda’s daughter…sitting on an enemy aircraft gun in North Vietnam was a betrayal. It was the largest lapse of judgment that I can even imagine.” Though Jane Fonda may now regret her actions during the Vietnam War – when she infamously threw her support behind the communist “enemy” – they have given her an undeniable edge. Fonda was one of the most dynamic and outspoken female stars of the sixties and seventies, and consistently kicked against the pricks. She was arrested in 1970 after allegedly lashing out at a cop when she was found carrying a large amount of what appeared to be pills – all charges were dropped when the offending pills were identified as vitamins. Even as recently as 2006, Fonda was still storming the barricades, protesting to urge the Mexican government to re-investigate the slayings of hundreds of women on the Mexico-Texas border. After winning an Oscar for Klute (1971), Fonda’s career faltered for a while, and although she denies it, it’s tempting to speculate that her political views kept her from some of the better roles of the seventies. She still scored plenty, featuring in such quality fare as Julia (1977), The China Syndrome (1977) and Coming Home (1978), for which she won a second Oscar. As the eighties began, Fonda reinvented herself as an aerobics guru with a massively successful series of videos and books, revolutionising the fitness industry in the process. At this time, Fonda also finally reconciled herself with her estranged father by starring with Henry (for so long a figure of towering American masculinity) in On Golden Pond (1981). “Hanoi Jane” may now be in semi-retirement, but that image of her astride an enemy aircraft gun in Vietnam remains one of the most potent – no matter how ill advised – symbols of female rebellion in Hollywood, a place that Fonda has always held in oppositional disdain. “Working in Hollywood does give one a certain expertise in the field of prostitution,” the actress/activist once sneered.
SUSAN SARANDON: POLITICAL ANIMAL
“People probably think of me as Debbie Downer,” Susan Sarandon once said. “I’ve become kind of a joke in terms of activism for some people. But that’s like worrying if your slip is showing when you’re fleeing a burning building. You have to prioritise.” Susan Sarandon’s metamorphosis from thinking man’s babe to serious actress/political activist is testament to a core of steel that saw her regularly swerve Hollywood’s many pitfalls. Sarandon’s start came in 1969 when she and then husband Chris Sarandon auditioned for the politically incendiary Joe. Chris was unsuccessful, but Susan landed a major role. After this auspicious start, she languished in forgettable movies until 1975, when she starred opposite Redford in The Great Waldo Pepper, and then scored perhaps her most famous role with The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Sarandon’s image as an articulate sex symbol grew with Pretty Baby (1978), Atlantic City (1980), and The Hunger (1982). She was undeniably beautiful, and stripped in almost every film that she made. A lesser actress may have been typecast as eye candy, and could have had a considerably shortened shelf life as a result. During her late thirties, Sarandon became careful about the roles that she chose, and actively pursued the part of Annie in Bull Durham (1988). This sexy but in-control character would come to epitomise her persona in the nineties. Sarandon’s stature grew with Thelma & Louise (1991), and she won a much deserved Oscar for Dead Man Walking in 1995. Sarandon now chooses roles that hold special interest for her, and is the most outspoken actress on anti-war and human rights issues in Hollywood. She even stated recently that she would quit America if John McCain is elected President. “I didn’t realise that everything was supposed to fall apart at forty,” said this famous woman of a certain age. “I just slid past forty and fifty. When you’re an outsider and not paying attention to the rules, the hurdles are a little lower.”
PAM GRIER: THE BLAXPLOITATION QUEEN
“I know that I’ve influenced people, and I’m proud of that,” Pam Grier said in 2006. “I really haven’t done anything. I haven’t saved anybody from a burning building.” Despite her modesty, Grier is one of the most important African-American females in cinema history. Definitely the only female survivor of seventies blaxploitation, Pam Grier has emerged unscathed as an iconic role model and a highly credible actress thanks to roles in such films as Jackie Brown (1997). Whilst working as a receptionist at indie production company American International Pictures, Grier was spotted by in-house director Roger Corman, who cast her in the then lucrative cycle of women-in-prison movies, starting in 1971 with Women In Cages and The Big Doll House. Beginning with Hit Man (1972) and Coffy (1973), Grier caught the crest of the blaxploitation explosion and became the first African-American female to headline a movie. The likes of Foxy Brown (1974), Sheba Baby (1975) and Friday Foster (1975) boasted Grier as their sassy, gun-toting, no-nonsense heroine, and even though she usually lost most of her clothes somewhere along the way, the films painted Grier as a strong, in-control character. In this respect, she was at the vanguard of showing females as dominant heroes and role models, far in advance of such reductive efforts as Barb Wire (1996) and Tomb Raider (2001). It’s even arguable that Grier is the very first American leading lady to headline hard hitting action films, marking her as an instant oppositional force to Hollywood’s male-driven mainstream. Grier continues to work today (most notably on TV’s The L Word), and her legacy as a symbol for female empowerment is assured, with one of her big screen characters even inspiring the name of one of hip hop’s most independent and forthright performers. “Foxy Brown actually approached me to ask if she could use the name,” Grier once said. “I told her, ‘You didn’t need to ask’. If you’re an independent woman, every woman is Foxy Brown.”
FRANCES FARMER: THE REBEL SAINT
“Frances was a rebel when it wasn’t fashionable,” wrote Rita Rose in The Indianapolis Star in 1983. “She was a free thinking woman of the thirties and forties whose outspoken nature, shocking language and anti-social behaviour landed her in jails and mental institutions.” Poor Frances Farmer. Her rebelliousness would today earn her column inches in tabloids, instead of incarceration in mental hospitals. A conscientious and intelligent teen, burgeoning actress Farmer eventually landed a contract at Paramount, where she nabbed parts in the likes of Howard Hawks’ Come And Get It (1936). With stardom came an outspoken attitude, and Farmer once famously labelled Hollywood “a nuthouse”. The tipping point occurred when she fell in love with playwright Clifford Odets, who dumped her abruptly. Farmer began drinking heavily. Having temporarily quit Hollywood to pursue a theatre career, Farmer returned to Tinseltown to find it unwelcoming. She was only offered supporting roles, which made her furious and frustrated. Farmer’s life unravelled in 1942. Addicted to alcohol and amphetamines (which she took to control her weight), she became isolated and erratic. She entered a round of minor arrests, suspended sentences, bail-jumps, and assault charges, ultimately finding herself committed for psychiatric analysis. Diagnosed with progressive psychosis, Farmer was admitted to the first of several sanatoriums, where for seven years she would undergo brutal insulin-shock treatment. Eventually declared legally insane, she suffered even more extreme electro-shock treatment. Rumours of a lobotomy are common too, but were never verified. Despite eventually being freed from incarceration, Farmer was a shell of her former self, and all attempts to revive her career failed. She died in obscurity at age 57 in 1970. A tragedy of heart-rending proportions, her story is a shameful chapter in Hollywood’s history. Farmer’s image as a battered rebel was subsequently immortalised both on film (Jessica Lange memorably played her in the 1982 biopic Frances) and in song (with Kurt Cobain penning Nirvana’s “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle” in her honour).
TUESDAY WELD: THE WILD CHILD
“As a teenager, I was a wreck. I drank so much that I can’t remember anything.” Having had a nervous breakdown at nine, been an alcoholic at ten, and attempted suicide at twelve, Tuesday Weld naturally headed for Hollywood. Her career was one of constant friction, as the studios persisted in casting her as a pretty ingenue and she struggled to carve out a serious name for herself. Weld’s fragile beauty had her tagged right from the start as a homogenous starlet interchangeable with countless others. She did, however, have a knack for scratching out interesting performances in unconventional films. Lord Love A Duck (1965) – George Axelrod’s anarchic satire on sixties teen culture – and Noel Black’s deranged Pretty Poison (1969) are notable highpoints and underrated gems. Weld famously turned down the role of Bonnie Parker in the seminal Bonnie And Clyde (1967). “I don’t want to be a huge star,” Weld once said. “Do you think I want success? I refused Bonnie And Clyde (1967) because deep down I knew that it was going to be a huge success. The same was true of ‘Bob & Carol & Fred & Sue’ or whatever it was called [1969’s Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice]. It reeked of success.” Weld’s personal life was blighted by depression, poor marriages and even seeing her house burn down. It was not until the seventies that she was finally able to shed her cherubic vamp image and finally get roles befitting her considerable talents. Starring opposite James Caan in the brutal and efficient Thief (1981), she showed a core of steel beneath the frail beauty, and gave a superb performance. In 1977 she scored a Best Supporting Actress nomination as Diane Keaton’s friend in the disturbing Looking For Mr. Goodbar (1977). Although she’s never made it as an A-list actress, Tuesday Weld is a survivor, managing to buck studio trends and transcend personal tragedy to produce an uneven but lasting body of work.
JEAN SEBERG: MARTYRED GENIUS
“In my long and difficult life, I have come to learn that the less I know about acting and the more I know about everything else, the better I’ll be at both acting and living.” Emerging blinking into the eye of the Hollywood publicity storm after beating 18,000 other hopefuls for the coveted title role in Otto Preminger’s Saint Joan (1957), Jean Seberg embarked on a 22-year crash course in infamy which ultimately led to her suicide but ensured her place as one of the screen’s most enigmatic and rebellious icons. Just another beautiful actress in Hollywood, Seberg fought hard to resist falling onto the starlet conveyor belt occupied by actresses such as Yvette Mimieux, Sheree North and Jill St. John. She deftly managed this by learning French, moving to Paris, and landing a role in Jean Luc Godard’s seminal French New Wave watershed Breathless (1959). The cache that this gave Seberg saw her rise above the material that she was offered, and the actress carved out a decent career in the US and Europe. Though appearing in good pictures like Lilith (1964) and A Fine Madness (1966), Seberg’s films failed to launch her onto the A-List. A major disappointment came with the bloated musical Paint Your Wagon (1969). Apart from having her singing voice dubbed, the married Seberg suffered embarrassment when a highly charged affair with Clint Eastwood became public. After one more hit as one of the ensemble cast of Airport (1970), Seberg courted controversy as a vocal supporter of The Black Panther movement. The FBI put out a scurrilous rumour that she was pregnant not by her husband but by a Black Panther member. Seberg had to fight publicly to prove her innocence, but then fled to Europe for the rest of her career. Her private life deteriorated dramatically, and she ultimately committed suicide in September of 1979. Even then, mystery surrounded her death, and conspiracy and controversy continue to haunt Jean Seberg’s memory to this day.
IDA LUPINO: REBEL PIONEER
“My agent told me that he was going to make me the Janet Gaynor of England – I was going to play all the sweet roles – whereupon, at the tender age of thirteen, I set upon the path of playing nothing but hookers.” Ida Lupino was a talented actress of the forties who worked under contract at Warner Bros. in such fare as They Drive By Night (1940) and High Sierra (1941). Unhappy that her career was stalling, Lupino left the studio and went freelance – a risky move in 1947 as the studio system was still the dominant business model. In 1949, and quite by accident due to a director on a film that she was working on suffering a heart attack, Lupino’s career changed tack. The movie, Not Wanted, was produced by Emerald Productions, which Lupino herself had started. Due to budget restrictions, she stepped behind the camera. This serendipitous event was to be the rebirth of Lupino as one of the only female directors in Hollywood at the time, and certainly the only female director of noir pictures. Her controversial film, Outrage (1950), was only the second since the introduction of the Hays Production Code to deal overtly with the subject of rape. Lupino’s stature as a creative talent grew, and as a pioneering female in male dominated Hollywood, she carved out a career directing and sometimes starring in such films as The Bigamist (1953) and The Hitch-Hiker (1953). In the late fifties, Lupino worked in the nascent realm of live television, earning a reputation as an actors’ director, and a filmmaker equally at home with thrillers and feminist issues. Her standing as one of the first major female directors is unchallenged. “I’d love to see more women working as directors and producers,” Lupino once said. “Today it’s almost impossible to do it unless you’re an actress or writer with power. I wouldn’t hesitate right this minute to hire a talented woman if the subject matter were right.”
DOROTHY DANDRIDGE: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
“If I were white,” Dorothy Dandridge once famously said, “I could capture the world.” The most important figure in the advancement of female African-American performers in Hollywood, Dandridge’s place in history is assured, but behind her legacy lays a short, toughly fought career blighted with heartbreak. Born in 1922, Dandridge became a singer and eventually performed at the famous Cotton Club. She eventually landed small film roles, but adamantly refused stereotypical black parts, while continuing to stoke up her career as a nightclub singer. Black leading roles were rare, and when Dandridge learned that an all-black musical was in preparation, she lobbied hard for the title role. Carmen Jones (1954), directed by Otto Preminger, was a hit, and it earned Dandridge an Oscar nomination for Best Actress, a first for a black woman. A glass ceiling had been broken, and a huge, vital step had been taken in the advancement of black actors in Hollywood. Whilst this brought her fame, however, Dandridge was regarded as more of an exotic exhibit than a talented actress. “Carmen Jones was the best break that I’ve ever had,” she said. “But no producer ever knocked on my door. There just aren’t that many parts for a black actress.” In 1959, Dandridge made Porgy And Bess, again directed by Preminger. The film was not a success, and her life began to fall apart. She married a restaurateur who was abusive, and was then swindled out of a fortune in a separate business deal. Drinking heavily, Dandridge could no longer support her daughter (who suffered from severe disabilities), and had her committed to a state hospital. Declared bankrupt, Dandridge attempted to revive her career, but was a spent force. She died alone of a probable accidental overdose at age 42 in 1965. “Prejudice is such a waste,” Dandridge once tellingly said. “It gives you nothing.” Dandridge was tellingly played by another African-American groundbreaker when Halle Berry starred in the impressive 1999 TV biopic Introducing Dorothy Dandridge.
JUDY DAVIS: HER WAY
“When I first started acting, and we’d talk about Shakespeare and how great it was, I thought, ‘Well, I suppose it is. It is if you get to play Macbeth or Hamlet. But who wants to play bloody Lady Macbeth or Ophelia? Most women must pit themselves against men in dramatic situations, and the men pit themselves against ideas or God.” Born in 1955, the young Judy Davis attended convent school, a profound experience which left her questioning her faith. After leaving and travelling across Asia, she pursued an acting career, and got into NIDA. Almost immediately after graduation, she landed a role in Gilliam Armstrong’s landmark drama My Brilliant Career (1978), cementing Davis’ position as one of her generation’s most accomplished and outspoken actresses. She chose not to be circumspect in interviews, and happily decried Hollywood, which was unsuccessfully beckoning. “I’m not a celebrity,” she once said. “I never wanted to be one, and never promoted myself as one. I’m an actress. There’s a difference. To be a celebrity, one really has to go after it, and want it.” A true actor who immerses herself in roles, Davis is often better than the material she chooses. She’s also blessed with an ear for accents, which has enabled her to become an international star, although one who has never abandoned her roots. She has tackled almost every conceivable genre, and remains an impassioned, dedicated and compelling performer, dotting her brilliant career with superlative performances in such films as Heatwave (1982), Kangaroo (1986), High Tide (1987), Husbands And Wives (1992), and last year’s raging Aussie success, The Dressmaker. Today, she is a true renaissance woman – acting, directing theatre, and thinking of going into writing. Judy Davis is defined by her own decision never to succumb to commercial prerogatives, but rather to march to the beat of her own individualistic drum. “I’ve never worked for the sake of working,” she once said. “There’s enough crap out there for me not to add to it.”
AVA GARDNER: TOUGH AS NAILS
“Because I was promoted as a siren and played all those sexy broads, people made the mistake of thinking that I was like that off the screen,” Ava Gardner once purred. “They couldn’t have been more wrong.” Gardner is a prime example of why the Hollywood studio system was inherently wrong, artistically if not commercially. Here was an actress of considerable talent, and a wild, bohemian personality. She was also bestowed with such a universally perceived beauty that she couldn’t escape the constraints that being labelled “a goddess” conferred. Once becoming a contract player, MGM found little for her to do. Infuriated, Gardner blew off steam in her private life. Already a veteran of two tempestuous marriages to actor Mickey Rooney and bandleader Artie Shaw, in 1948 she embarked on an affair with the married Frank Sinatra. Sinatra claimed many times after their eventual marriage that Gardner was the love of his life. Her passion and fiery temper (“When I lose my temper, honey, you can’t find it any place”) only made her more enthralling in his eyes. Gardner remained at MGM until her contract expired in 1957. Prior to this she made her best films. Showboat (1951), The Snows Of Kilimanjaro (1952), Mogambo (1953), The Barefoot Contessa and Bhowani Junction (1956) best reflect the free spirited nature of Gardner’s persona, whilst 1964’s The Night Of The Iguana is arguably her best performance, effectively showing her personality at its most unguarded. Ava Gardner’s legacy is going to be her unparalleled beauty, but the truth is that she was a very talented and natural actress who tried to transcend that beauty, and when she sometimes succeeded, she created cinema magic. “I wish to live until 150 years old, but the day that I die, I wish it to be with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.” It’s a fitting eulogy for the notoriously tough talking and headstrong Ava Gardner.
MAYA DEREN: BREAKING CINEMATIC BOUNDARIES
“To Maya Deren goes the credit for being the first since the end of the war to inject a fresh note into experimental film production,” claimed film commentator Lewis Jacobs. The field of female American avant-garde filmmakers working in the forties is admittedly a small one. That Maya Deren also had a mysterious life, and died in relatively ambiguous circumstances, makes her doubly interesting. Born in Kiev in 1917, Deren fled anti-Semitism and arrived in New York in 1922. The young Deren was an academic, then studied dance and choreography, and eventually married Czech filmmaker Alexander Hammid, which sparked her interest in cinema. Deren’s first film was Meshes Of The Afternoon (1943), a visually striking short dealing with cultural and personal alienation. It’s also a dream-state tone-poem without words; the primary narrative concern seems to be of a psychosexual mien, and its warping of place and time only serves to increase its allure. Deren herself appears in the film, and it would be foolish to deny that her rare and enigmatic beauty are part of its many riches. Deren continued making experimental films throughout the forties, with At Land (1944) and Meditation On Violence (1948) being noteworthy. “I make my pictures for what Hollywood spends on lipstick”, she once spat, and complained that Hollywood “has been a major obstacle to the definition and development of motion pictures as a creative fine-art form.” Undeniably a surrealist, Deren’s influence as an experimentalist was not at first applauded, and her films were only seen by a small number of appreciative audiences. Her legacy, however, has grown exponentially, and Deren (who also dabbled in drugs and voodoo!) is an undeniable influence on the work of David Lynch, amongst others. She has also achieved deserved recognition by the American Film Institute, who inaugurated the Maya Deren Award for experimental filmmaking. Praise indeed for this uncompromising artist who challenged the limitations of film as art in the conservative forties.
VANESSA REDGRAVE: SPEAKING OUT
“It’s a kinky part of my nature – to meddle.” Like a British Jane Fonda, Vanessa Redgrave came to prominence in the sixties as a beautiful, talented actress, had a famous actor-father, has fought vociferously and passionately for many controversial causes, and has maintained a highly respected career as she crossed from doe-eyed beauty to serious roles. As at home on the stage as on screen, Redgrave has eschewed almost all trappings of movie stardom, and has resolutely stuck to her own creative path, choosing her roles with increasing deliberation. She often stars in adaptations of stage plays, and has been careful to choose roles that, whilst not reflecting specific left-wing political views, have certainly been selected for their leanings. It’s rare to find an actress who will put her beliefs on the line at the expense of her standing in the industry, but Ms. Redgrave has never shied from controversy, be it having full membership of the Workers Revolution Party, lecturing on Marxism, getting jailed at an anti-nuclear demonstration, or passionately supporting the Palestinian cause. Having been the darling of the sixties stage and screen, and enjoying a personal and professional relationship with director Tony Richardson, she embarked on a stormy relationship with actor Franco Nero, and then one-time Bond Timothy Dalton. As her political activism became more pronounced, so her film work became less prolific. The films that Redgrave has made, however, are as impassioned as she is. Isadora (1968), The Devils (1971), A Quiet Place In The Country (1971) and Julia (1977) all reflect the burning political and sexual activism that have, and still do, run through this uncompromising actress. Slipping easily in and out of the mainstream, Redgrave remains a challenging figure in the arts. “I’ve opened my mouth on a lot of subjects,” she once said. “I thought that the more prestige you get, you have the power to do what you like. It’s not true. I am misrepresented very often, but so is everybody with something to say.”
