HISTORY LESSON: Hitch's Battle of the Blondes

It is impossible to discuss the career of Grace Kelly without equally discussing Alfred Hitchcock and his place in her life. He himself would say that he did not discover Grace, but rather saved her from a stale career full of bland roles and stunted professional progress. He saw in a Grace a potential that was not being utilized-- her subtly insinuated yet powerful sexuality. Once he put it to use before the movie camera, her image was forever changed. She suddenly became elegant yet smoldering, refined yet dangerous, mysterious yet alluring. However, Grace was not the first blonde in Hitch's life, nor would she be the last. There is a long line of women who have been either idolized, terrorized, or bewildered by the iconic director, but there are only two that stand out as his all time favorites: Ingrid Bergman and Grace. Comparing the two and their relationship with the smitten director sheds some light on the maniacal genius himself as well as the public's perception of the two beautiful actresses and their eternal place in celluloid history.

Grace and Ingrid are the only actresses to each appear in a Hitchcock picture three times. Hitch had a tendency to use his men more often than his women. He found ideal vessels of sexual courage and social deviance in Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, not to mention the bit players he used over and over like Leo Carroll and John Williams. But the women? Maybe one picture, maybe two... He could never find the right woman to both marry to the role at hand, inflame his secret desire, and-- frankly-- put up with his questionable behavior. Nita Naldi was too overtly sexual, Madeleine Carroll was too professional, Theresa Wright was adorable but too innocent... Grace and Ingrid possessed certain qualities that made them perfect fits. They remained Hitch's trusted friends and allies, yet were smart enough to maintain enough distance and independence to keep from getting caught in his web. Most importantly, they both entered his life at the right time: before he completely went off the deep end, and his obsession with his leading ladies turned to madness-- can I get an "Amen" for Tippi Hedren!

The first obvious commonality was their legendary beauty. Both women were arguably at the peak of their careers when they worked with Hitch-- extremely gorgeous and widely adored. He knew just how to present them to make them look their best. He put special attention into wardrobe and color, particularly with Grace, and in them he created the most flawless images possible. They were also equally talented, proving to be strong in their convictions to their characters but also very open and cooperative with Hitch's very specific ideas. Having kind natures helped them to patiently adhere to his shot-by-shot instructions without complaint, and because they trusted in his judgment, so too did he come to trust them when they posed objections. Normally, he wouldn't take advice from anyone, let alone an actress, but with Grace and Ingrid he took into consideration their own ideas, wardrobe suggestions, actions, etc. It was a rarity indeed. This give and take was a phenomenon rarely repeated with other performers under his tyranny.

In private, the same professionalism and genuine sentiment the women had on the set was presented off camera as well. They both indulged Hitch in his school-boy crushes, accepting flowers and invitations to dinner (with him and the Missus), enduring long conversations in which they diplomatically confided in him the personal matters of their lives and listened to his own opinions on art, travel, and above all food. Ingrid in particular would recall the feeling of being trapped in her dressing room at the end of the day, barraged with Champagne and forced to undergo a lengthy tete-a-tete when all she wanted to do was go home and rest! They were both "ladies," tolerating while not inviting his advances so as not to appear rude. Equally light-hearted, they both got and accepted his raunchy jokes and limericks, proving that while they were classy, they were also far from prudish.

Most importantly, they were unattainable. At least by Hitch. Both women had rocky love lives, often clouded by rumors of extra-marital affairs. Hitch loved indulging in the scandalous stories of their lives, which he followed closely in all the papers. But while they were both human, sexual creatures, prone to flaw or being swept away by romance, so too they maintained their pristine images: Grace- ever composed, ever in control, never showing her cracks, and Ingrid- perpetually vulnerable and innocent, never stained by her private indiscretions (at least until Roberto Rossellini). Hitch found these women fascinating-- wolves in lamb's clothing. He likewise found their inner eroticism much more exciting than the explicit sexiness of someone like Dietrich or Monroe. As he himself would say, when it came to sensuality, he liked to "find it out," and the search and questioning with regard to Grace and Ingrid was intoxicating. But as much as he yearned, these two divas remained on pedestals, never to be touched. They symbolized to him the perfect women: sexual dynamos that somehow came off smelling like roses. They had class and carriage, and so, in his mind's eye they remained unsullied by whatever alleged infidelities they did or didn't do. Onscreen, they emerged as perfect visions of femininity-- adored and dreamed, but never had.

 Ingrid with Greg in Spellbound, her first Hitch piece.

But too, these ladies had differences, most particularly in the way Hitch chose to present them. A lot of this had to do with simple timing. Ingrid came first. She was Hitch's first true "love" and thus the unwitting recipient of his school boy crush. His adoration of her was therefore less invasive, more distant and adoring. She was the graceful and beautiful goddess of his dreams whom he admired from afar. Thus, in his film-making, he would reach out to her, embracing her with his camera, which delicately loved and cradled her. With Ingrid, he lived out fantasies of being the in-control male hero. She is often portrayed as a weak, broken woman or a victim. In Notorious she is a recovering alcoholic betrayed by love; in Under Capricorn she is a sick woman terrorized by the thin line between truth and insanity. In all of her Hitch films she is a martyr for love, submitting herself to complete torture at times for the man she desires. Whether she is knowingly venturing into danger by falling for possible mad man Gregory Peck, suffering in a tragic marriage to Joseph Cotten, or whoring herself for and in spite of Cary Grant, she is always trapped in romantic limbo-- enraptured, frightened, and at the mercy of her attackers. Behind his camera, Hitch was her savior.

Ingrid, lost in love to Cary in Notorious

Ingrid is always captured in an embracing light, inviting viewers to wrap their hearts around her. Despite her characters' flaws, her weakness and innocence always beckon to even the coldest of hearts. Ingrid meekly evades, enticing us to follow her further into her destructive journey, using mystery and compassion to reel us in. As Donald Spoto points out in his book Spellbound by Beauty, Hitch didn't love anyone with his camera like Ingrid. That being said, no one gave love to Hitch's camera like Grace Kelly.

Originally, Hitch had wanted Ingrid to star in his first collaboration with Grace, Dial M for Murder, however, Ingrid was in professional exile after her torrid affair with and marriage to Rossellini. She was on the Hollywood blacklist and thus was hiding out in Europe to avoid an American hate-fest. Knowing this information provides a clear explanation for Grace's first adventure with the "Master of Suspense." Her role in Dial M is very different from her future Hitch parts because it was specifically built for someone else. Her place within it is precarious. She does, of course, an incredible job, but Grace Kelly as a victim is hardly as believable as Grace Kelly as an impassioned heroine. Hitch saw this. Grace was contained, proper, but not mild. Her strength always wins out over her placidity. She isn't as acceptable as an un-savvy adulteress being  framed by her malicious husband as Ingrid would have been, who was led blindly by love numerous times. Grace was never prey to ignorance. Grace is, however, entirely believable as a woman who would bravely stab an intruder to save her own life. After making this film with her, Hitch knew he had found someone with guts, and he was ready to put her to use.

Thus, Hitch realized that his old, suffering female storylines amidst dangerous men would not do. He built Grace from the ground up in her next two pictures, Rear Window and To Catch a Thief. The end result was something quite different from what he had produced with Ingrid, who was already an established star when Hitch found her. Ingrid's "type" was already known to audiences, so Hitch merely played with an established image when working with her. Her casting in his films would be similar to that of her roles in Gaslight or Intermezzo: A Love Story. Her extreme gift for tragedy and pain followed her from role to role. Grace, on the other hand, was brand new, untainted, and fairly unknown. People had seen her in her handful of movies- Fourteen Hours, High Noon, Mogambo -- but the world wasn't in love with her yet. Her primness and reserve had been firmly captured but not the passion underneath. Hitch utilized this "snow-capped volcano" and eventually kept audiences on the edge of their seats waiting for her to explode.

 Going in for the kill: a lady waits for no one.

His smartest move was making Grace the sexual aggressor in his films. Whereas Ingrid quietly willed the public to her with longing and sympathy, Grace would come right at ya'! Hence, her dreamlike and fantastical entrance in Rear Window (above) when she is first seen crawling toward the camera to seductively plant a kiss on the lucky Mr. Stewart. This is the great divide in Hitch's career: he would spend three of his films chasing Ingrid and another three letting Grace come after him. After losing Ingrid, he was betrayed in a way-- dare I suggest, brokenhearted. So, this time around, he would allow the object of his desires to make love to him and not the other way around. Grace was the personification of the sexual hellcat in white, and he willingly submitted himself as prey. When Grace shockingly pulls Cary Grant to her for an unexpected kiss in To Catch a Thief, or nuzzles a nonchalant Stewart in Rear Window, she is brazenly making love to not only her leading man, but her director as well.

 Cary, reluctantly receiving the attentions of Hitch's dreams.

In her Hitch movies, Grace is daring. She risks her life to retrieve the wedding ring of Mrs. Thorwald, she engages in an affair with a known burglar because it turns her on, and even in Dial M she engages in an affair about which she only feels kind of bad. The reason she got away with these erotic and questionable moral behaviors on the screen is because she carried them off with such ease. Her demeanor and delivery saved her from the "tramp" label, a fact Hitch loved. In her, there was a perfect marriage of the Madonna and the Whore-- the immaculate, immaculately dressed, dream girl.

Then, Hitch lost Grace too. But, while he was secretly offended that Ingrid had left him for another man, another director no less, and while he would say that he would forever mourn the movies that he and Ingrid didn't get to make, he was not upset with Grace when she left him for Prince Rainier III. Not overly, anyway. She had reached the pinnacle of all he could have wanted her to be-- a Princess, for God's sake! He would say that it was a role finally worthy of her. However, he did miss her, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to recreate her through Vera Miles, Tippi Hedren, and Kim Novak, who quite literally represented this yearned for metamorphosis in Vertigo-- a film about a man who is obsessed with recreating a former lover in the body of someone else. Grace saw the movie and thought it was brilliant... And sad.

 Classic Grace, far more interesting than the 'window.'

Both women forever remained ideals to Hitch, and as ideals they were able to escape him unscathed. (Ironically enough, they both evaded their most ardent lover by getting married to other men). In our minds, so too are they ideals. Ingrid is our feminine, vulnerable side-- a slave to desire-- and Grace is our calculating sex-kitten-- satisfying her own desires (with impeccable fashion, of course). It is perhaps fortunate that these ladies made no more movies with Hitch than their classic trios. Had they stayed longer, the lines between artistry and control, imagination and dementia, may have become blurred. As it is, their films remain clean, precise, tantalizing, and classic. We continue to love and be loved by them... and love being loved by them. This is why we remain transfixed by Hitchcock, for by interpreting his own fantasies, he equally painted vivid portraits of our own. We all love, we all fear, we all desire, we all go a little mad sometimes, and it was Hitch's mad love of I and G that enhanced and solidified our own attachment to them. But hey, it's a lovely way to go.

TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE...: The Three Faces of Ev-il...

When Tony Curtis was released from the US Navy at the end of WWII, the 20-year-old was determined to pursue his dreams of acting. After learning that there were some openings at the Dramatic Workshop, where he would be acting alongside soon-to-be-legends like Walter Matthau, Harry Belafonte, and Bea Arthur, Tony was ready and raring to go. The only problem? He would have to audition to be accepted. Because he was too nervous to perform a scene with dialogue, Tony opted to re-enact the great metamorphosis scene of Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. This, in addition to the compelling light and dark sides of Mr. Curtis's own nature, served as my inspiration for this week's post.

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The story of and legend of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has been retold in many different ways and many different mediums. In cinema alone, the list of films that have been directly adapted from Stevenson's original novel are countless-- from Abbott and Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. Though the tale being repeated ad nauseum should have expectedly grow cold by now, just as the evolving mythology of the vampire continues to peak our interest, this horror story keeps going strong. The themes of good and evil, human versus animal, and cerebral versus sexual, remain relatable topics. Sex sells, now more than ever. However, it was in the past that it presented itself more seductively, more interestingly, and more violently. In time periods of more strict moral behavior, and more stringent cinematic codes,  filmmakers had to be very crafty to divulge all of the facets and dangers of suppressed human sexuality with honesty and without suffering from the censors' scissors.


Watching the following three adaptations, it is interesting to witness what the audiences of the times must have: the slow unfolding of hidden yearnings, the unleashing of one's inner beast, the acknowledgment of those thoughts, feelings, and compulsions a proper, puritanical society teaches us to suppress. Witnessing the metamorphosis onscreen must have come like a rush; a welcome release and catharsis on a society ready for change, indulgence, and ecstasy. However, the horror too remains. The horror of what it is to look at the baser nature of ourselves and recognize only a monster-- one that lives within all of us, and one that we must constantly seek to control. Heavy duty stuff, but sometimes it is only through the most extravagant means that we see the clearest truths.


Below I briefly discuss the J and H films of 1920, 1931, and 1941. Instead of recapping the varying plot-lines, which are essentially exactly the same, I shall point out the ways each film manages to distinguish itself and the essential factor within each film that makes it unique. All of them are superb, and all should be seen, if only to compare the different interpretations of presentation and performance, but in the three following categories, each movie takes a turn standing above the others and holding its own: The Doc, The Women, and The Film.


THE DOC:

It probably comes as no surprise that one of the most lauded thespians in American history should hold the title for one of the greatest performances of all time. Despite the fact that Fredric March took home the Academy Award in 1941 for his performance of the good/bad doctor, it is John Barrymore's interpretation of the scientist-gone-mad that maintains a well-deserved notoriety. Barrymore (left in "Hamlet" in 1922) was the perfect man to cast in the role of the intelligent and innocent doctor who is slowly manipulated onto the path of darkness. For one, his reputation as a great male beauty, aka The Great Profile, made his transformation into a gruesome, egg-headed monster even more horrific. To see John in his prime-- young and fresh, before alcohol and ravaged his mind and body-- gives you a better idea of why the ladies had such great affection for the man who was Beau Brummel. More importantly, the Barrymore legend of acting talent is no overstatement. This guy is good. There is a reason that he, his brother Lionel, and his sister Ethel, were so revered in their time. "Pretty," Johnny may have been, but he wasn't afraid to get ugly, and the self-same torments and demons he possessed within his soul, which plagued him his whole life and drove him to self destruction, he equally wore proudly on any stage. He never failed to rip himself open and martyr himself before movie cameras at his most demented, pathetic, and destroyed. Inside all genius, there is madness, and it is precisely John's gifted madness that made his work on the 1920 film so breathtaking.

To this day, John's initial transformation scene of Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde is a moment that every actor remains enthralled by. The main reason is that no makeup is used. The cameras role without stopping, there are no special effects, it is simply John, clutching his throat, crumpling in agony, disappearing below his counter, and arising a totally different animal. He pulls a Lon Chaney, but without a makeup bag. The effect is astounding, mesmerizing, and terrifying. This one, uninterrupted moment more fully communicates how simple it is for all of us to give in to our own private monster-- how closely he lives beneath our skin. John does not disappoint for the rest of the film in his characterization, though he does have a little help from the makeup department as the story progresses. His Mr. Hyde (right) is diabolically sinister and physically repulsive. Whereas in Rouben Mamoulian's '31 version, Fredric March's Hyde is interpreted as primitive and ape-like-- a throw-back to our inner-caveman-- and the Victor Fleming '41 version gives us a Spencer Tracy with mad, emphasized eyes and teeth, John's Hyde is somewhat of a conundrum. His elongated, egg-domed head protrudes under a greasy mat of gnarled hair, and his hunched walk resembles a slinking, twitching insect. Indeed, when the transition begins to overtake him in a later scene, a tarantula is seen, super-imposed, closing in on his bewitched and transfixed body. The fact that his appearance is so inexplicable makes the terrorizing of his chosen victim Gina, the always superb vixen Nita Naldi, all the more repellent and despicable. 


While Fredric and Spencer both deserve kudos for what they brought to their characterizations, they can't touch Barrymore on this one. So, if it is the performance of the Doc you are most looking for, reach for 1920. You won't be sorry. Just scared!


THE WOMEN:

The casting of the women was a very important part of all three films. In casting the dancing girl/prostitute Ivy (or Gina as she was in the 1920 version), a girl had to be chosen whose overt sexuality could penetrate and disturb even the most self-controlled and moral of men. She had to be the epitome of desire, provoking and drawing forth a lust for which the doctor would purposely concoct a potion to release. But too, the actress needed to evoke sympathy from the audience, for the burden of being an object of insane desire becomes a punishment that eventually kills her. It's the old "hooker with a heart of gold" scenario-- no lady of the night was born on the street. The choice to use the sexy and scintillating Nita Naldi as John's counterpart, Gina, (I'm wondering if the writer cleverly left the va- off the beginning of that one) is no shocker. Nita was the epitome of feminine sexual danger at the time. Miriam Hopkins (left) as Ivy in the '31 version is also something to behold. In fact, her initial meeting with the as yet untainted Dr. Jekyll, when she tries to seduce him in her bedroom, is still quite jaw-dropping. When she raises her skirt and places his hand on her leg, it makes one hot under the collar even decades later. Miriam was a fascinating and truly gifted actress, too often forgotten among her contemporaries. It was just this type of envelope-pushing role, which deviated from the normal expectations of chastity and womanhood, that made her all the rage in the pre-code era. (If you get the chance to see her in The Story of Temple Drake or Design for Living, take it).

However, it is 1941 that wins the award for the superb exploration of the temptations of female sexuality. Not only did he cast the gloriously tragic and inhumanly beautiful Ingrid Bergman as Jekyll's temptation, Ivy, but Fleming also cast hot to trot Ms. Lana Turner as his luscious fiance, Beatrix (both right with Spence). At first, you may think that Fleming got these roles reversed-- that Ingrid would have served the film better in the prim and lovely fiance-next-door role, and the effortlessly sexy Turner should have been the target of Hyde's passion. This too is what I believed at first, but somehow the unexpected decision works. It is precisely Jekyll's repressed desire for his beautiful fiance Lana that fuels his need to make the sensual and vulnerable Ingrid his prey. In fact, the two women resemble each other greatly in the film. Neither of them have ever looked so gorgeous. With long, curly hair, soft lips, and ripe figures, they are practically interchangeable. The naive and youthful innocence of Lana, whom Spencer's Jekyll must be chomping at the bit to wed and bed, bears little difference from Ingrid's interpretation of Ivy-- except the price of sharing Ivy's bed is much cheaper than a wedding ring. In this version, Jekyll gets the girl of his dreams the right way, and Hyde gets the girl of his dreams the wrong way. The fantasy sequence in which Jekyll envisions himself as Hyde, driving a chariot pulled by these two women-- naked nonetheless-- speaks volumes. He sadistically lashes at them with his whip, urging them to go faster and faster in a physical representation of man's ultimate orgasm- the final unity of the Madonna and the Whore.

The Sadistic Dream Sequence

So, if it's the ladies you want to look at, turn your peepers to Victor Fleming's 1941 version. Ingrid Bergman is her usual magnificent, multi-layered self, giving great depth and pathos to her role of the broken woman, and Lana, whom I think is often underrated for her talents, is equally intriguing and sensitive in her portrayal of the suffering fiance.


THE FILM:

As you have probably guessed, the final trophy goes to Rouben Mamoulian for his adaptation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in 1931. Despite the triumphs of both the silent and '41 versions, Mamoulian's direction of the middle film is both technically and narratively the most intriguing. A very smart move on his part, in order to better meld his audience with the protagonist/antagonist he created a series of point-of-view shots. When Jekyll (Fredric March) sits with his fiance Muriel (Rose Hobart) on a bench (left), we get direct to camera close-ups of both faces, which are smoldering with desire. As Muriel looks out at the audience enticingly, we more fully understand the lust churning in Jekyll's loins, which he is obviously struggling to keep suppressed. But she too is a mammalian creature, who yearns for her chaste lover as much as he yearns for her. The countdown to the wedding day thus becomes painfully long and unbearable, and the viewer is totally on Jekyll's side when he decides to indulge in his hidden animal, unleash the beast, and make Miriam Hopkins's sultry Ivy his unwitting prey. These POV shots become equally compelling once Jekyll becomes Hyde, seeing himself for the first time and living as him for the first time. Again, the audience moves with the camera, walking heavily in the shoes of their own dark and devious natures. It makes the film both thrilling and horrifying in that we are forced to personalize the experience.


The makeup used for Fredric is also unique. While at first he seems just plain ridiculous, looking like a goofy monkey and in no way passable as human, his appearance serves a purpose. It seems hard to buy that any woman, prostitute or not, would sleep with a being so obviously ape-like, and we have to use suspension of disbelief when Miriam is raped by the monster much more than we have to with the equally hideous portrayals of Barrymore and Tracy. I mean, this is just plain bestiality! But, that is Mamoulian's point. By tapping into suppressed desires and caged violent tendencies, Jekyll is getting in touch with his most animal, ungoverned, and unevolved self. His primate features recall that of the caveman, or perhaps even the missing link, who did not woo with wine and roses but simply clubbed a female over the head and had his way with her guilt-free. While modern man is sophisticated in ways of the heart, while he can love, feel pity, relate to other creatures, Mamoulian suggests that the baser nature remaining deep at our core can not, or rather will not, do the same. The absence of responsibility and emotion, existence based purely on the instant satisfaction of the "id," is the closest man can get to freedom. But, as the film points out, he must sacrifice his humanity to get it.


What finally makes this version a bit superior to the others is the fact that it was made at the right time. The years 1930-1934 were a very rich and enticing, albeit brief, period of film-making before the production code was enforced and the censors (via Will Hays and Joe Breen) went haywire. Stories were bolder, dialogue was more risque, and it was the last dance of the freewheeling twenties before the depression set in with full force. Thus, the themes of sex and violence are more freely explored, expressed, and enlarged upon than in the other two versions. With a little more wiggle room, Mamoulian was allowed the ability to go further than Fleming and silent director John S. Robertson had. The effects remain impressive as well, with Fredric March's transformation realistically being implied through a compilation of shadowing and the brilliant, twisted elasticity of his face.

Jekyll, regretting his decision!

In the end, it is hard to go wrong with the tried and true story lines of our horror history. Despite their macabre and frightening nature, we still look forward to witnessing new visualizations of old nightmares in every generation... possibly even every other week. It's like meeting an old friend. The beauty of J and H, in addition to other horror flicks, seems to be that it allows us to live vicariously through the malevolence of others, exorcising our own less savory compulsions and even letting go of pent up fears. Any of the previously mentioned versions deserve a gander and will allow you for a while to indulge in your inner Hyde while safely returning to your (I hope) more peaceable Jekyll side afterward. It's nice to know, after all, that when you just can't hide your Hyde anymore, you can always pop in an old video and let him out again.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Rudolph Valentino

Rodolfo, Rodolfo... Would "Valentino" by any other name have smelled so sweet? "Guglielmi" doesn't have quite as nice a ring to it, but that most beloved of all silver screen faces still retains his dear perfection nonetheless. Pardon the poetic waxings, but that is the Valentino effect, isn't it? Despite his 80+ years of absence, Valentino and the romance surrounding him remain just as contagious, scintillating, and provocative as ever. He seems a fitting choice for July, as our temperatures start to rise with the escalating summer weather. What is it about this guy that will not fade away? What it is about us that refuses to let him???

Perhaps more than any other star of his era, Rudy represents the majesty and poetry of the silent screen. Despite the fact that his career and life were cut short after a mere 31 years, despite the number of flops he made and the way he was personally attacked by the scrutinizing public, he remains more famous and familiar than most of his contemporaries. Garbo and Chaplin are two other survivors, but their hefty careers and iconic personae serve as explanation. Rudy had only a handful of hits, yet his name and face will spark a look of recognition in almost anyone's eyes. While even greats like Gloria Swanson and Thomas Meighan leave many scratching their heads, Rudy is an answer before there's even a question. His "stamina" is partly the result of chance. Rudy burst onto the scene and established the dark, male hero during the roaring twenties when people were finally ready for change. The first film star of his kind-- ethnic, Italian, dangerous-- he paved the way for the others who were to follow, but maintained his notoriety as the first. This is a fact that many forget today, and for which Rudy, who had to suffer his share of prejudice and bigotry, should be respected for.

With good pal Nita Naldi in Blood and Sand

But there is much more to it than that. That is purely circumstantial. The meat of the matter is that Rudy had a special and romantic quality that made him and his performances infinitely palpable and intensely poignant. Audiences couldn't help but be effected. This emotional and adventuress young man developed into a sensitive and dedicated actor, whose success was a product of the fact that he wasn't afraid to feel and feel deeply. Whether suffering the pangs of love, incensed with anger, or indulging in a boyish joviality, the screen radiated his depth and warmth, and the world lavished in it. So powerful was his effect that in addition to pulling throngs of women to him like moths to a flame, so too did he attract the unmitigated rage of the male populace. The jealousy of the male ego spawned a plethora of negative public attacks on Rudy and his masculinity, so that over time he would be falsely remembered as a "sissy" and a "pink powder puff." I guess guys can be just as catty as girls...

The truth is, Rudy-- despite rumor of his sexuality and whatever side of that argument you choose to take-- was "all man" as they say. Rudy was an overachiever, feeling and doing all things at 100%, whether it was sculpting his body, evoking powerful emotions, or eating his famous spaghetti. He was an athlete and an aesthete, a stallion and an artist. It only makes sense then that in his death, he should be remembered in all of these different ways, whether adored or abhorred. His refusal in life to be just one thing or settle into one definite role left us with a catalog of faces and identities to grapple with. In his death, we still argue over who Rudy was, and the controversies surrounding him-- his sexuality, his marriages, his sordid past-- only add to the mystery about him. His enigmatic nature and confounding persona echo throughout our past and present and indefinitely will do so in the future. But who would want to live in a world without him? 

Valentino is love: love's avenger, love's captor, love's captive, and love's martyr. Yet we are the ones still held prisoner. The sheik, the toreador, the bandit, and the eternal romantic hero, he lives forever in a world of silent beauty. Fittingly, the silent era died right after he did. After all, no kingdom can survive without its King.