Eleanor Divina, Part 4
Detour: Back To the Eleanor Parker Lot
Hello there and thank you once again for putting up with my detours as I trip back towards the province of actress, Eleanor Parker.
In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’ve become obsessed enough to track down just about every movie that she’s made.
During her ingenue years at Warner Brothers and my pajama days at home—two films, Between Two Worlds and The Voice of the Turtle made strong impressions. As a kid I was ravenous for theatre and films both. And, Ms. Parker offered me a treasure trove of both mediums. As I’ve proclaimed here before—I was addicted to her style—her effortless efforts to bridge cinematic realism with theatrical maximism. She and her directors seemed to have formed a collaborative mandate to craft measured ways of both bridling and liberating her vim...(there’s a word I hardly ever get to use). I’m sure many have accused her of chewing the scenery. But, watching her provide the kind of dignity she offers even in the trashiest of films she’s been involved with—take for instance 1966’s The Oscar—buries any notion of her overplaying. I’d say instead that she has a very healthy appetite for processing things to their realistic extreme. And, in doing so, I can’t shift my focus away from her.
The list of her greatest movies attest to this. They include; The Man With the Golden Arm, Lizzie, The Detective Story, Interrupted Melody, Home From the Hill and most significantly—for me, anyway—the film that opened my door to her, 1950’s Warner Brothers classic, Caged.
Susan Hayward a decade later picked up her Oscar for an equally operatic turn on harsh realism with her heartbreaking performance in I Want To Live. The last twenty minutes of this particular movie are as close to perfect example of fire playing itself out to total exhaustion—all the while being reigned in by director, Robert Wise. In the case of Caged—director John Cromwell partners similarly with Parker all the way towards her first of three Best Actress Oscar nominations.
A little side note here—the great, and very often reviled stage director, John Dexter was adamant in his hatred of acting being defined as a craft. But, I strongly disagree with him. Granted there are those rutter-less actors who’s motive is almost always to draw attention to themselves. But I contend that acting is indeed a craft. An obtuse and collaborative one incorporating ephemeral tools used by directors and actors both to sculpt great theatre. All roads forward must be rooted in a good script. We know how in the best of theatre we are usually left mystified by the means by which we’ve been moved. Only combined craftsmanship—seamless partnership and imperceptible technique—provides this kind of an experience. To feel that a film with its lack of dimension can even come close to realizing something akin to the best theatrical experience is well worth looking out for.
But, I digress...
I’ve still more to impart of Ma Parker’s stint in a women’s penitentiary before freeing you from Eleanor, and closing the door, at last, on my obsession.
Till next time. Stay out of jail.
Be well.
And remain engaged.
Bye Bye for now.
