"She seemed to know more of the world than anyone around her"

(Returned from a trip to Seattle. Excuse the light blogging.)

I've been in love with Barbara Stanwyck since Preston Sturges' camera lingered over her spirited, persistent tousling of Henry Fonda's hair in The Lady Eve. Before the days of DVD I spent years trawling through video stores looking for Night Nurse, The Miracle Women, The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, and other Stanwyck obscurities (most, thankfully, widely available now) as fervently as I would for Jean Renoir films. The deftness with which her voice alternated between scorn and warmth, her immodesty (had lifelong friend Joan Crawford played Stella Dallas -- as she sort of did in Mildred Pierce -- we would have begged her daughter to shoot her instead of feeling repulsed and moved), the willingness to look ugly, to project misanthropy -- these qualities made her at home in the modern world, my world. Only Angelica Huston has come close.

Anthony Lane is right, though: she's an unknown to the general public:

To addicts of old Hollywood, as to pining critics, no actress delivered a more accomplished body of work; to the general public, however, her name is fading into the past.

Over Christmas, discussing movies with my mom and grandmother, the former wondered about actresses "of the past" whose work could favorably compare with "the actresses of today." Katherine Hepburn, duh. Bette Davis, no doubt (Abuela helpfully suggested Gene Tierney). When I mentioned Stanwyck, they both said "Ahh! Of course..." Excited they weren't (had they been given more time, they would have suggested Jeanne Crain). Maybe it was her anti-starpower, the quickness with which she dismissed pretension; she reminded them of too many other women they know, thus was of no interest to them. (Lane again: "By the time she arrived in movies, she seemed to know more of the world than anyone around her, enough to make audiences take her on trust.").