Original Sins

by Kim Krizan

  Trained as a soldier for MGM’s glamorous army, it was drilled into Lana Turner’s head that she must look and behave a certain way in public, something she instilled in hairdresser Eric Root when he began escorting her around town in the last decades of her life. As he describes in his book The Private Diary of My Life With Lana, she admonished him to “Stand up straight, look strong and friendly, and whatever you do, just act calm.” When he told her one day before a particularly important occasion, “Lana, I’m not the calm type,” she asked him what he needed to make him calm, adding, “Do you want a tranquilizer or something?” In the end, she decreed that her escort would be permitted to sip “a little glass of champagne in the limo on the way” to an event so as to maintain the all-important visage of cool and calm.

  “Joan” Rhymes With “Moan”

  As a beautiful young starlet and divorcee newly transplanted from London to Hollywood in the early 1950s, Joan Collins caused a ruckus, seemingly without effort, which she describes in her autobiography, Past Imperfect:

  I was maligned, scorned, criticized, lied about, and my fairly normal mode of living was considered scandalous and disgraceful. All of a sudden I found myself with a reputation as a raving sex-pot, swinger and home wrecker, whom Beverly Hills wives were supposed to live in fear of in case I cast my green “orbs” in the direction of their men. Ninety-nine percent of this was total fabrication. I was outspoken, yes. Never a diplomat, I have always found it easier to tell the truth than beat around the bush; but the outrageous stories that proliferated about me surprised even the publicity department. I got an instant reputation as a free-living, free-loving rebel, and it was hard for me to handle.

  Femme Fatale Psychology : What Lies Beneath

  The true life beginnings of the girl who appears to be the cool hellcat are a departure from the glamorous fiction of inborn evil. For one, she didn’t emerge from the womb fully-formed in all of her malevolent glory, gracefully surfing a froth of crashing waves on a half-shell like a twisted Venus. No, the truth is that most Fatales begin as a rather unhappy lot, thwarted early in life, the victims of loss and deprivation and cruelty, though the psychic shocks of youth lead them to develop strength and drive. They realize that life is not a fairy tale, that there is little possibility for happily-ever-after, and that they better buck up, but quick.

  Her Lousy Beginnings

  There’s a reason the Fatale is not like the over-caffeinated girl-next- door, the “It’s all good!”-spouting, positive-thinking, cheerful, happy, and easily-gratified lady that society dictates ladies should be. No, the Fatale is not one of life’s cheerleaders, for her origins were bone-crushingly terrible. She has experienced real loss and disappointment, early defeats and lost causes that have begotten an unremitting cynicism. Life’s blows have wounded her, but instead of destroying her they have caused her to become rather ruthless in her pursuit of the good life. They have caused her to become dangerous.

  The secret history of the femme fatale—the one not mentioned in the fables—is not pretty, not pretty at all, for the girl was seriously wounded early on. Mata Hari’s mother died when she was thirteen, her father became an alcoholic, and she was sent to live with relatives who didn’t want her. Pola Negri’s father was banished to Siberia and never to return, leaving her and her mother destitute. After being abandoned by her father, Anaïs Nin went to live in what seemed a strange foreign country. Marlene Dietrich’s soldier father died after falling off a horse. When Barbara Stanwyck was four years-old her mother was killed when a drunk knocked her off a trolley. Bette Davis’ parents divorced when she was seven. (She claimed that as a consequence she had to be “the monster” for herself and her mother.) Rita Hayworth’s father took her out of school and made her the family breadwinner, forced her to dance in seedy clubs and possibly abused her sexually as well. Lana Turner’s father was murdered in the street and her mother then left Lana with people who physically abused her. Ava Gardner’s two year-old brother was killed when a firing cap rolled into the fireplace and exploded. Her family lost their farm in the Depression and was plunged into poverty. Then when she was twelve her father died and for years she and her mother barely scraped by.

  Greta Garbo was raised in the slums of Stockholm. During Christmas she was sent away to spend the holidays with another family as a “charity child.” Her father died when she was fourteen, leaving the family completely destitute and forcing her to leave school to take a job in a department store. That job may have led to her modeling and eventual acting career, but the die was cast. After she came to Hollywood with her beloved mentor he was fired by the studio and sent back to Sweden, leaving Garbo alone in a town she hated and unable to speak the language. Her mentor died soon after, plunging Garbo into a deep despair. Garbo’s sister then died of cancer but Garbo was not allowed to return to Sweden for the funeral. She was said to suffer from chronic depression and spent her final years as a recluse.

  The character of Nikita, played by Anne Parilland in “La Femme Nikita,” is a filthy street urchin, a drug addict and criminal. She is also the only survivor of a police raid who, after being incarcerated and drying out, has no other option but to submit to her government’s forced training to become an assassin as part of their black ops. Though Nikita is terrified she becomes The Best—the go-to killer for all of the most important assignments. This is an apt metaphor for the Fatale who, backed into a corner by destiny, has little if nothing left to lose.

  Perhaps even worse than those wounds randomly inflicted by fate are the betrayals purposely and pointedly imposed by those persons the young Fatale trusts to keep her safe. Witness Louise Brooks, who at age nine was molested by a neighbor who lured her to his house with candy. When she told her mother what had happened, her mother angrily blamed little Louise for her victimization, saying that she must’ve led the man on. It’s fair to say that Louise Brooks, her childish innocence and trust forever crushed, never again really cooperated with anyone. The beautiful, intelligent, and talented actress’ anger and penchant for bridge-burning dominated all of her relationships ever-after, and she seemed to delight in leaving all comers in the lurch—including directors, husbands, and studio heads.

  Mother Gin Sling of “Shanghai Gesture” has a life story that would curl anyone’s hair. She began as an innocent Manchu girl who washed up like flotsam on the beach and was picked up on the Shanghai waterfront by a man who saw her stealing food and “liked” her. Eventually she met a handsome Westerner named Dawson who married her and they had a daughter. But doom was waiting around the corner because her beloved Dawson abandoned her, stealing her money and absconding with her child. Instead of disappearing into the ether, she starts a business. And the business? Is it any wonder the young Mother Gin Sling became the proprietress of a glamorous gambling casino, a den of sin, depravity, and corruption? Gin Sling became “a remarkable lady, the most cold-blooded dragon you’ll ever meet,” capable of devouring one “like a cat swallows a mouse.” A supposedly upstanding Westerner named Sir Guy Charteris inspects Gin Sling’s gambling establishment and, with the attitude of an outraged moralist, attempts to put her out of business. After doing a little detective work, Gin Sling lures Charteris to a celebratory banquet on Chinese New Year only to unmask him as Dawson, her long-lost husband. She then dramatically reveals to him her identity as his abandoned wife—the one he betrayed and threw away like so much dross.

  Mother Gin Sling’s supposed evil was born of pain, abandonment, and betrayal. Instead of folding up and giving in, she toughened against life’s bitter blows and met them with a strength of her own. She became a powerful dragon lady, an enticing and malevolent force forged by the fires of life.

  Her Burning Ambition

  Crap beginnings lead directly to burning ambition, for what can a girl who’s found herself lying in the gutter do but look up and see the stars? She has nothing left to lose so—goddamn it—she’s gonna go for broke, reach for the prize, shoot for the jackpot, reach for the brass r
ing, and go for the big pay-off. Success in the world becomes delicious revenge for all the indignities she was dealt early in life.

  When the child who was Norma Jeane Mortenson found herself living in an orphanage (knowing full-well she wasn’t an orphan), she gazed from one of its upstairs windows and saw a huge water tower. She knew that water tower stood on the RKO movie studio lot and it represented, not only the place where her mother had worked as a film cutter, but also the dream of a better life, a fabulous future in which she’d be loved by the masses. Norma Jeane’s dream of Hollywood stardom became the way, the truth, and the life—her lode star and hope for escape from an abysmal childhood, the dream that fueled and guided her drive to achieve, no matter what. And less than twenty years later, Norma Jeane Mortenson, the “illegitimate” daughter of a mentally ill woman, the foster child who was never acknowledged by her father, a girl who wouldn’t even graduate from high school, would work on that RKO studio lot as a glamorous starlet named Marilyn Monroe.

  Cora, played by Lana Turner in “The Postman Always Rings Twice,” had felt trapped and unhappy as a teenager, preyed on by men who viewed her as a tasty tidbit. Finally, in an effort to escape the wolves who seemed to surround her, she accepted a proposal of marriage from Nick, an older man she didn’t love. Still, she was faithful to him and worked hard to make the roadside diner they owned into something special. When Nick hires a handsome drifter named Frank, Cora is sorely tempted by her long-dormant romantic urges. Feeling desperate and guilty, she writes her husband a note: “Nick—I’m going away with Frank. I love him. Cora.” She and Frank slip out of the diner and trudge down the road, trying to catch a ride to place where they can start a new life. But Cora isn’t enamored of the idea of going back to square one—not after all the work she’s done, not after all she’s been through. No, there must be another way, for Cora wants to be somebody.

  Her Talent for Scandal

  Any girl worth her salt will appear to move from one scandal to the next. Her burning ambition will attract attention and by shedding the role of Good Girl, she automatically brings on controversy—for just who the hell does she think she is? And because the fires of her ambition never burn out she moves from scandal to scandal just as easily as she breathes. Nothing will make her more appealing … that is until she tips the whole scandal machine over the deep end, which she will do with relish.

  Pretty, blonde Barbara Payton was from a small town called Cloquet in the state of Minnesota. As a child she was bright, athletic, and loved cooking. As she grew into adolescence she became more than pretty; she turned into a knockout. She lost her virginity to one of her school friend’s fathers while they were in a bathroom and party guests were celebrating the man’s birthday downstairs. Barbara married a couple years later, still a teenager, but she’d set her sights on Hollywood. When she discovered she was pregnant she was aghast. “Pregnancy!” she later said. “I was so damn mad at John that I ordered him out of the house.” After she had the baby she deserted her husband and took the child to Hollywood. Ms. Payton was soon under contract at Universal and her stock started rising. She became a party girl, going out with stars, sleeping with married celebs, having fun gambling and drinking. She quickly got a “rep.” Nevertheless she became engaged to Joan Crawford’s super-classy ex, Franchot Tone, and he accompanied her to a hearing before a Federal Grand Jury when she had to provide an alibi for a dope addict and suspected murderer. Later, when Tone burst into her apartment to find her in bed with a fellow actor, her classically malicious response was to burst out laughing. Somehow, Tone forgave her. Still engaged, Barbara went to a pool party and hooked up with a B-movie actor. The scandal rag tipping point was reached and the teeter-totter of fame and infamy descended into the red zone. Barbara Payton was all over the headlines showing what appeared to be reckless disregard for her career and relationships. She tried to pass a bad check and was arrested, though Ciro’s nightclub owner ended up paying her fine. Then she lost custody of her son. With her career and private life in shambles, she rode a crazy train of alcoholism, prostitution, and depression. The formerly high-flying starlet was stabbed by a “client.” She ended up having to take menial jobs. Finally, she went to live with her parents, but the damage had been done. Barbara Payton died soon after at age of 39 from heart and liver failure.

  Louise Brooks hailed from wholesome, middle-of-the-road Kansas, but she incongruously began drinking at age fourteen. She also quickly became sexually “liberated,” posed for nude art photography, and refused to smile unless she felt genuinely inclined. Still a teenager, she joined a modern dance troupe called Denishaw and toured the country, but was fired in front of the whole company for what the director felt was a superior attitude. Louise quickly found a job as a chorus girl in a glamorous New York show called Scandals, but then moved to the top: the Ziegfeld Follies. There she shown so brightly that the other chorus girls complained she was trying to hog the limelight, so the powers that be wisely made her a featured dancer. She attracted the attention of a Paramount producer who, liking what he saw, signed her to a five-year Hollywood contract. She was soon playing leading roles and married one of her directors, Eddie Sutherland, but she absolutely hated Hollywood. Though her acting was stunningly naturalistic, she was thought to be difficult and defiant. She had a sharp tongue and used rough language frequently and liberally. And in spite of the fact that she was newly married, Louise almost instantly fell for someone else: the future owner of the Washington Redskins, George Marshall, with whom she for years had what she described as an abusive relationship.

  Nevertheless, Louise had an interesting offer from a German director named G. W. Pabst. She divorced Sutherland, abandoned Paramount, and went to Europe at Pabst’s bidding, casting her Hollywood studio contract aside like a used tissue. Paramount demanded that she return to Hollywood, but she refused. The studio then blacklisted her, spreading the rumor that her voice (which in reality was lovely) wasn’t good enough for the new talkies. Once in Germany Louise made “Pandora’s Box,” “Diary of a Lost Girl,” and “Prix de Beauté,” all of which dealt with daring themes of sexuality, including the first film depiction of lesbianism. After her success in Europe, Louise returned to Hollywood where she was practically persona non grata. She had spending issues and at one point went bankrupt. Finally she was offered the wonderful lead role opposite James Cagney in “The Public Enemy.” Stunningly, she turned it down to cavort with sometime-boyfriend George Marshall in New York City. Darling Louise just didn’t give a shit about Hollywood. (The role in “The Public Enemy” went to Jean Harlow and made her a star.) From this point, Louise was only offered a few lousy B-movie roles, sometimes with other outcasts such as accused-rapist Fatty Arbuckle. After discovering her numerous affairs, George Marshall married actress Corinne Griffith while Louise married a Chicago millionaire only to divorce him five months later with no good-bye. After playing one last lousy part in a Western, Louise then went home to live with her mother in Kansas. It wasn’t a load of laughs. She said, “The citizens of Wichita either resented me for having been a success or despised me for being a failure.” She ended up returning to New York, working as a salesgirl at Saks Fifth Avenue and then as a high-class prostitute. She still loved her gin and experienced suicidal depression. She wrote an autobiography, but after working on it for years felt that to really reveal herself she’d have to tell certain sexual truths she was unwilling to relate, so she burned the manuscript in the incinerator. At the end of her intensely dramatic life there was some reprieve from tragedy because Louise Brooks became a film writer famous for her keen observations.

  Her Existential Melancholy

  The Fatale is a woman with few illusions, for she is untethered and bobbing in what she believes is the void of an indifferent universe. The usual rules of life haven’t applied—to her or for her—and that has woven around her an air of sadness, the burnished glow of the wronged. Having been around the block one or twenty times, the Fatale will tell very few abo
ut her most private feelings.

  Garbo was a great mystery. The simple explanation is that she suffered from depression, though the depths of her character were probably more complicated than can be summed up with a Pollyanna-ish psychiatric diagnosis. At every turn, she defied the efforts of her studio to define her, first refusing the outdoorsy role she was given when she arrived in Hollywood, then rejecting the simplistic vamp persona. She slipped out of the wistful, romantic image, then turned on a dime and tackled comedy. Garbo explored Eastern philosophy and health food, and yet she never gave up smoking and cocktails. She famously said, “I want to be left alone.” She also made opaque, cryptic comments such as “I like tired people” and “I’ll go crazy if it doesn’t rain soon.” She was known for her cool restraint, her lack of animation, and her apathy, but was also seen displaying the most tender feelings, even becoming hysterically overwrought. Such is the behavior of a melancholic and an existentialist for they believe nothing really matters and nothing means anything, while also feeling so deeply.

  In “The Lady from Shanghai,” angelically beautiful Elsa/Rosalee, played by Rita Hayworth, radiates deep hurt, though the source is never revealed. She seems desperate and clings to Michael, a sailor played by Rita’s real-life husband Orson Welles. She tells him, “You don’t know anything about the world,” implying she knows how rotten things are, how corrupt and twisted and lousy, how god-awful people can be. What is there left to do but make a strong martini? She says, “Everything’s bad Michael. Everything. You can’t escape it or fight it. You’ve got to get along with it. Deal with it. Make terms.” Naturally, Michael slaps her. She seems crushed and on the verge of tears, but she asks, “You’re scared, aren’t you? You’re scared! I’m scared too.” Michael suspiciously replies that he’s sure she doesn’t need any help from him, that she can surely help herself. Elsa/Rosalee responds, “I’m not what you think I am. I just try to be like that.” Later she asks Michael if he thinks suicide is wrong and tells him she’s wondered if taking enough of her husband’s painkillers would “kill her pain.”